


RED: A MARVEL / SHADOWHUNTERS CROSSOVER

by My_Bucky_My_Steve



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Arranged Marriage, Bullying, Dominant Steve Rogers, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, M/M, Omega Bucky Barnes, References to Knotting, Scenting, Shadowhunters - Freeform, Virgin bucky barnes, Warlock Magnus Bane, Yasha is Bucky, graphic description of violence, submissive bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:07:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7634362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Bucky_My_Steve/pseuds/My_Bucky_My_Steve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shadowhunters are reveled throughout the lands as the keepers of order and peace.</p>
<p>As the leader of the New Order of Shadowhunters, Captain Steve Rogers lives by one rule. "If you get hurt, hurt 'em back. If you get killed, walk it off." </p>
<p>But, peace comes with a price, and that's a price he's more than willing to pay.</p>
<p>Five hundred years ago, an entire race was wiped from existence. The mystery as to what happened to them has always been shrouded in darkness and secrecy.</p>
<p>Until now. When one emerges.</p>
<p>Thrusting Steve into a war against an ancient enemy where he will do anything and everything to protect what is now... his...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Innocence and Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I'll make this as short as I can. This is a Marvel / Shadowhunter Crossover. There are many, many characters both from the Marvel universe and the Shadowhunter universe as well. As the story progresses more characters will be introduced. 
> 
> For those of you embarking on this journey, just like several of my other fics, this one will be dark as well.
> 
> Don't forget to see the trailer for Red on my IG @sebastianstan_igfanpage 
> 
> I'll see you for the end notes...
> 
> Thank you

_October_ _2016_

Staring at the worn out hardwood floor he shifts his eyes to his battered converse. The seams are being held together by what’s left of the meager stitching. The laces long ago discarded and replaced with tattered pieces of string.

Chewing on his bottom lip until its raw and bleeding, he stutters in a breath. Wringing out his fingers for what seems like the thousandth time, he shifts his weight on his twin bed. He doesn’t dare glance up and take in the surroundings of his bedroom, or better said, after today, what _was_ his bedroom.

He can’t.

He never really had much. All his belongings, what little he has, they’re all shoved into his army green backpack. Anything that’s meant something to him in his entire life is tossed in there.

A loud thunderclap rattles the tiny window.

The hand-sewn blue curtains billow in the wind from a crack in the glass. A crack that’s been there since he can remember. The chilling breeze squeezing through has him pulling into himself as he closes his eyes and forces back a wave of fresh tears.

A soft rap on the door has him pulling out of his thoughts.

He doesn’t look up, but, the door slowly creaks open as soft tentative footsteps slowly pad towards him.

Sniffing the air, the warm comforting scent of cinnamon and sugar engulf him. A scent that was always associated with love and happiness, now bring fear and trepidation.

“It’s almost time.” She softly says.

Pressing his lips together, he lifts his face towards the small window. The howling of the wind rings in his ears just like the howling in his head.

Shaking his head once he breathes “Please…”

Breathing in deeply, she moves to sit next to him on the small bed. Barely big enough for him, let alone two people. Placing her frail, withered hands on his; she stops him from wringing them dry.

“Te iubesc…” she gently squeezes his hands.

“Daca ma iubesti, ai sa ma face sa ma fac acest bunica.” The tears he’s held back begin to streak down his cheeks like the rain pelleting the tiny window.

Tucking a loose strand of unruly brunette hair behind his ear, she sniffles as she closes her deep blue eyes. Lifting his hand to her thin lips, she kisses every single knuckle and gently glides his hand over to her cheek as a sad smile falls on her face.

“Did I ever tell you… about the night you were born?” Opening her eyes, her lashes are wet with her own tears as she looks completely heartbroken and lovingly at him.

Shaking his head, he watches her as she lifts her thumb to brush away a falling tear from his cheek.

Leaning in, she places a soft kiss on his temple, as she’s done every single night before he goes to bed.

Her scent overwhelms him and envelops him all at once as he fights back the urge to scream out to the heavens to wake him up from this nightmare. But he knows it’s not a nightmare. This is his reality.

Clearing her throat, she holds both his hands in her palm and pats the top of his hand with her other hand. Glancing at the door, another loud thunderclap shakes their little shack.

A drop of water hits his faded jeans. Staring at it, his mind wonders to the roof. Another leak he thinks. But that thought quickly vanishes as he looks up at his grandmother and sees the drop of water wasn’t water but, her tears.

“Grandma…” he trails off. His voice low and shaky.

Steeling herself, she quickly pats his thigh and paints a warm smile on her face. Glancing over at him, she wraps her rail thin arm around him and pulls him close. Kissing the top of his head, she inhales his sweet _innocent_ scent and commits it to memory.

Closing her eyes, her lashes mat together again from forcing back more tears. Leaning her head on his soft brunette waves, she rubs his arm. 

“That night—“ she begins “started out just like this. It rained and thundered all day long. The sky was so dark; you couldn’t tell if it was noon or midnight. It was cold, so cold. I can still feel it in my bones. The rain started turning into ice as the temperature started dropping.” Breathing in deeply, she sighs as she recalls the events of that day.

“I kept feeding the old wood stove more kindling to try to keep us warm and to keep the cold out. But, you’ve weathered seventeen winters here, and, you know… that doesn’t always work.” She smiles at him tucking yet another loose strand of hair behind his ear.

Huffing out, she glances up towards the roof as the rain begins to pound on relentlessly. The howling of the wind screeches through the shack as it forces itself through the cracks and splinters in the wood.

Tucking himself under his grandmother’s arm, his fingers grip at her apron. Inhaling her scent, he tucks it away and commits it to _his_ memory.

“Your mama, my daughter was in bed. In this very room—“ she looks around fondly, her memory adding little bits of furniture here and there just like it was so many years ago. “her labor started early. Too early. I made my teas and mixed my herbs to stop it, but, they only worked for a short time. You… were determined.” Pulling him from her arms, she shifts to face him. Brushing her knuckles on his cheek, she taps his nose gently. Smiling big, she chuckles. “One way or another, you were going to come into the world that night.”

Raking his teeth over his bottom lip, he arches his eyebrows and picks up her hand. Bringing it to his lips he kisses it lovingly.

“As the day went on and the storm raged on outside, day turned into night, and your mama, she was so brave. So brave, she knew, it was out of our hands. It was time. So, I gathered my things and we said a little prayer, I held her hand—“ her voice breaks as she tries to steady herself. Inhaling deeply, she continues “and she held mine. I told her how much I loved her and how _proud_ I was of her. How I could never have asked for a better daughter. So selfless, kind, so full of compassion and love. _Oh,_ her heart swelled with it from the moment she knew you were growing inside her. You, you remind me so much of her. You have her eyes. A gray so deep, so full of emotion, it just swirls around you.”

“I-I do?” he whispers through choked tears.

Nodding, she brushes yet another tear from his cheek.

“So, she took a deep breath and pushed. And pushed and pushed. And finally after what seemed like an eternity of pain… it stopped. Everything just… stopped. Her breathing was ragged and rushed, I looked down and… there you were. The tiniest little thing I’ve ever seen. But, with a mop of hair on you.” Laughing softly, she runs her fingers through his hair. “You hadn’t cried yet, so, I turned you over and gave you one swift pat on your backside and _oh lord_ did you holler. Our ancestors even heard you.” Giggling now, she stares into his gray eyes. “I cleaned you up, wrapped you in a blanket and laid in your mama’s arms. I stood back and I watched her as she watched you.” Breathing in, she looks at him “She looked at you the same way I looked at her the day she was born.” Tipping his chin so he can look at her, she cups his face in her frail palms “With so much love, that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect your baby. You’d move heaven and hell to keep your baby safe.”

Rolling her lips, she closes her eyes and stutters in a breath. The tale of his birth is not done. The hardest part is still to come. “I made your mama as comfortable as I could, kept feeding the wood stove trying to keep the cold at bay. She kissed you so, so much.” Glancing towards the small window, her thoughts take her back to that night. Every single emotion comes flooding through like a busted damn. Sighing, she smiles weakly at him. “So many _‘I love you’s’…_ kept repeating that to you over and over again. She needed you to know that. I remember she was cradling you in her arms and she said how beautiful you were, and I agreed, we never seen a baby more beautiful than you. But, as an hour past and then another, she grew… weaker… and, so did… her heart. She hadn’t named you yet. She said she wanted to name you after her _Papa.”_

“I—I was named after _Papa?”_ he asks.

“Yes, yes you were. She named you after your grandpa. She looked at you and—“ stammering out, she tries to compose herself the best she can, not for her sake, but for his, “she said, to promise her that I would protect you. Protect you with my own life. I held her in my arms as she held you and I promised her with all that I am and all that I have, with my life, I would. She kissed you and said she loved you more than anything in the world. Your little hand wrapped around her finger and that’s how you held onto her as I held on to you both.”

Looking through a flood of his tears, he stutters in a breath as he listens to the pain laced in his grandmother’s voice.

Wiping at her own tears, she squeezes him tight, pulling him closer, engulfing him with all the love in her heart. Inhaling deeply, she slowly exhales as she readies herself to finish the story of that fateful night.

“She leaned her head against my shoulder and said she was so tired and… sleepy, but, she didn’t want to let you go. I told her don’t. That I was right there and she didn’t have to let you go. She began to close her eyes and said—“ choking back a sob, the pain from that night hits her like a runaway freight train. “I love you Mama. Can I sleep now?” Swallowing back her tears, she nods her head slowly. “Yes, yes you can, _baby_ … I told her. So she did. She snuggled up to you, breathed in your… _scent,_ and went to… sleep.”

Pushing off of her, he stands and runs his fingers through his hair and wipes his face clear of all his tears with the back of his hands. Smearing the tears across his cheeks, snot mixing with tears dripping down his lips, his chin. Staring at the little window, it rattles as the wind and rain continue to pound against it.

“I promised her I would protect you. You don’t see that now, but one day, when you grow older and you have p—“

“No! No Grandma! Look at me!” he shouts at her as he whirls around to face her. “I don’t need protection! I can protect myself! I’m not a baby anymore.” He pleads. “I’m begging you… please… please Grandma don’t make me do this. We—we can run away, away from here. We can leave right now before _they_ come.”

His desperate pleas shake her to the core. He knows that, but he can’t go. Not with _them_. He rather die first.

Standing up, she walks over to him and places her hands on his arms, straightening him so they can face at each other.

“Look at me. Look at me.”

He doesn’t look at her but she shakes him enough that he _does_ look at her now. His gray eyes swarming with desperation and fear, he fists his hands on his jeans to try and stop the shaking throughout his body.

“I’m doing what I have to do. I made a promise to your _Mama_ , my _daughter_. I promised her to protect you with my life and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“But, but Grandma listen to me, please… just listen to me…” his words get caught in whimpers, stuttering breaths and cut off sobs. “We can run! Now! Please before it’s too late…”

Sighing deeply, she bows her head “Where would I run to? _Hm?_   Look at me… I’m an old woman—“ reaching up, she cups his chin to look at her. “I don’t have many years left in this old body.”

Shaking his head frantically he huffs out through his nose “No Grandma, don’t say that! I can protect you!”

 _“Oh… oh…”_ She _tsks_ , closing her eyes, her tears stream down her face. Opening her eyes again, she runs her hands down his shoulders to his hands. Breathing in; she can smell his fear, and it’s that scent that has her heart shattering into a million pieces all over again. “And when I’m gone? Who’s going to protect _you, Yasha?”_

Bowing his head, he whimpers as she pulls him into her. Clutching at her frail body, he buries his face into her neck, hoping and praying that her familiar scent will calm him down as it’s done so many times before.

Gently stroking his back, she coos to him and soothes him the best she can. “I know… I _know…_ my sweet, little _Yasha…”_

A bang on the front door has them both jolting and looking towards the noise.

“It’s time! We’re here to collect the boy!” A rough voice laced with authority shouts above the screeching wind and raging storm.

Hugging him tightly she gently tugs his arms away as she pulls him back. “They’re here.” She whispers.

Without looking at her, he pulls away and grabs his red hoodie. He doesn’t own a coat; they could never afford one so he made due with whatever hand-me-downs were tossed his way from the other villagers or what his Grandma was able to barter for at their local flea market. He was always grateful for everything he had, he never needed or wanted for anything.

Zipping up his hoodie, he bends down and picks up his backpack.

Another series of loud bangs has him hesitating in his steps.

“You have ten seconds to open this door or we’re breaking it down!” The rough voice yells from the other side.

“No-no need to break it down, we’re coming out.” She calls out to the voice.

Holding her withered hand out to him, he slowly walks up to her and laces his fingers with hers. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself as they begin to walk the short hallway out into the living area.

The two windows on either side of the small room are completely obscured by the flashing lights of _their_ vehicles. The blue and red hues cast luminescent shadows in the tiny space.

Stopping at the door, he can hear the crackling of their comms. Gripping the strap of his backpack he swallows hard as he feels his grandmother pull him into a hug.

He’s numb. He knows she has her arms wrapped around him, but, he can’t _feel_ her. He knows she’s saying something to him and he can see her lips move but, he can’t _hear_ her.

Forcing one leg to move than the other he feels as if he’s being pulled down weights.

Opening the door, the blaring lights flood in as his vision begins to blur and the world around him begins to spin, a low ringing in his ears has his knees buckling as his body goes limp.

The last thing he sees before the welcoming darkness swallows him whole… is several men all clad in black military fatigues rushing towards him…

 

**~*~**

 

Leaning against the massive archway he stares out into the expanse lush green lawn. The sound of the rain pelleting the earth brings him a sense of calmness. The smell of wet dirt invades his senses as he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, his chest expanding and his shoulders widening as he crosses his arms.

The sound of footsteps getting closer has his eyes snapping open as he lifts his face and sniffs the air around him. It’s electrified. _Alive._ A flash of lightening streaks across the sky illuminating the dark purples and brilliant blues. The chill settles on him like a blanket. The hair on his arms stand on end as a thunderous crack shakes the tree line to its core. He can’t help but think how hauntingly beautiful mother nature is.

“Hey man, wha’dya doing in here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Straightening up, he simply shakes his head. Glancing down at his watch he checks it for the hundredth time. “Nope. I have time.”

 _“Hm…_ you have time…”

“Yes, I do. Besides,” he takes in a deep breath as he glances over his shoulder to one of the long solid wood mahogany tables. Several holographic screens with different images are plastered up and down its length. “I was reading the initial reports on the new recruits.”

“Yeah… they’re an interesting bunch.”

“They’re fuckin’ kids, Sam.”

“I know, but, we were kids once too, Steve.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t choose this life. This life chose us. Look at them. Ready and willing to wade into a war. Why? Because to them it’s glorified, gives them purpose. Fuckin’ puppies, still wet behind the ears.” Uncrossing his arms, he hooks his thumbs inside his pants pockets. “That Wayland kid, he’s got a big chip on his shoulder.”

“I noticed that. The other day, more so than before. But y’know, he reminded me of somebody. I couldn’t place it… but he reminded me of… somebody… _oh yeah…_ you.”

“Fuck you.” Steve punches Sam playfully on his shoulder as he chuckles.

Laughing, Sam shakes his head. Both men glance out into the lawn as another, yet louder thunderclap rattles the darkened sky. The silence stretches out between them like an invisible string only being interrupted by the quick _pitter patter_ of fat rain drops.  

“May says, that a thunderstorm on any day is a blessing.” Brushing his fingertips down his chest, Sam closes his eyes and smirks. “Cleanses the soul.” Opening his eyes, he arches his eyebrow and looks over at Steve “However, on day such as _today,_ she says it’s an omen.”  

 _“Hm…”_ Steve rubs at his stubble as he presses his lips together. “So tell me, what _does_ May say about a certain someone sneaking into her kitchen for a late night snack, _huh?_ Is that an omen too?”

Opening his mouth, Sam shakes his head and stifles a laugh “Nope,” he grins like a cat caught with a canary in its mouth “not if I’m getting to eat her cookies… and what can I say, I _love_ May’s cookies.”

Steve looks over at Sam and doubles over in a burst of laughter, clutching his chest, he turns three different shades of red as Sam coughs up a fit from laughing so hard.

“Goddamn you dirty dog.” Steve runs his fingers through his hair trying to collect himself but fails miserably as Sam lets out a loud howl.

Placing his palm on Steve’s shoulder Sam pats him. Shifting the conversation, he asks “Seriously though, what are you doing down here _man?”_

“I told you,” his smile fading “reading the reports.”

“Really?” Sam looks at him questionably. “Today? Of all days? Listen, all this—“ he waves behind him towards the table “all this, can wait. It’s not going anywhere.”

Steve leans back against the archway, his eyes glued to the downpour raging outside. He’s always loved the rain, it calms him. To be honest, it’s the only thing that brings a sense of calmness over him. But today, its doing nothing to quench his agitation. Breathing in deeply, Steve forces himself not to snap at Sam, he knows he’s only trying to help.

“You’re right,” he says “I’ll deal with all this later.”

“Much later.” Nodding his head, Sam takes it for what it’s worth as he turns and heads out the library.

“Hey Sam…” Steve calls out.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. Thanks for accepting to stand up there with me today.”

Smiling, Sam nods his head slowly and shrugs his shoulders as he holds the massive door ajar “You’re my _Parabatai…_ I would’ve been pissed if you hadn’t asked me.” He says without another word as he slips through the door.

Digging in a side pocket of his pants, Steve pulls out his cigarettes and his lighter. Sparking one up, he inhales its sweet nicotine, letting it wash over him and relaxing him. Exhaling slowly, he watches as the cloud of smoke mixes with the chill in the air. The dark smoky gray puffs wisp out in front of him and slowly dissipate into the cold mists.

Staring out beyond the tree line, his steel blue eyes cloud over as a darkness befalls him…

 

**~*~**

 

He’s freezing. He can’t stop his body from trembling. He’s been staring at the same spot on the immaculate marble glazed flooring for over an hour. He doesn’t dare move since the tall blonde lady told him she would be back to collect him when it was time.

He doesn’t remember how he got here. Just remembers everything going to hell when his grandma opened the door. He blanked out, must’ve fainted because when he came to, here he was. His green backpack placed in a corner of the massive bedroom.

The bed itself is huge, fucking huge. And soft, so soft. Pillows and goose down quilts beyond the eye can see. A massive solid oak amour drapes the opposite wall and a large chandelier with tear drop bulbs hangs from the ceiling. An oversized cream colored couch with a glass coffee table adorns the sitting area and just beyond that, is the on-suite bath.

The door leading out of the bedroom is solid oak too with brass handles and intricate carvings that he doesn’t recognize. He hasn’t bother walking up to it since he woke up here. What’s the point? He wouldn’t be able to leave even if he tried.

He’s locked in.

Staring down at what he’s wearing he tries to calm himself. The more he tries the more he panics.

They came at him all at once. They didn’t talk to him, they talked _at_ him.

Ushering him into the bathroom.

The bathtub itself was ridiculously huge. It was carved out of marble stone, cream in color with the same carvings from the door. It had three steps leading up to it and enough of a lip to sit a half a dozen people at least.

A steaming bath was filled with lavender and jasmine oils. The scent wafting out into the bedroom as it swirled around him.

“Take your clothes off and get into the bath.” The tall blonde ordered him as she grabbed his arm and led him into the bathroom.

Moving like a robot, he didn’t speak, he knows that he has no choice but to do as she orders him.

His hair was washed with shampoos and conditioned with things he couldn’t even pronounce. He just sat there in the bath as a team worked around him. Scared to even blink.

His fingernails were clipped, trimmed and buffed and shined. His toenails were clipped, trimmed buffed and shined as well.

The water around him sloshed as he was lathered and scrubbed from head to toe. Literally.

His chest, his back, his arms, his hands, thighs, calves, feet, hell even his ass, dick and balls were washed and primped meticulously.

Thank God he doesn’t have hair down there. Never had. He’s pretty much hairless. He would’ve probably died had she told him to bend over and spread ‘em so they can shave him.

He’s never felt so humiliated in his entire life.

As soon as his bath was done, she ordered him out and team of hairstylists moved in on him like a swarm of bees as he was wrapped in a white cotton robe and ushered into a chair.

He closed his eyes and fought back tears as he dreaded what was going to happen next.

Combs were passed through his hair as the distinct sound of hair shears vibrated in his ears. A low whimper escaped his lips as he felt his hair being pulled up and the sound of the shears separating ready to cut at his hair.

“No.”

He heard the blonde’s voice ring out the command.

The fingertips holding his hair paused in mid-air.

“I’m sorry Madam Potts?” the voice behind him asks bewildered.

“Did I stutter? I said _no_.”

“But, we were under the impression that—“

“I do not care. You are not being paid to be ‘ _under_ _the_ _impression’_ of anything. You and your team are being paid to do a service. If you cannot do this service, which you are being paid for, handsomely may I add, I will have the guards escort you out immediately. Do I make myself clear?” her voice is flat and stern and all business.

“Y-yes, Madam Potts. Very clear. Please… how would you like his hair cut and styled?” the voice behind him asks shakily.

“Trimmed. Only. A fingernail’s worth of hair. _His_ … direct orders.”

“Y-yes, of course.” The shears come down with barely a snip.

The smell of fear reaches his nostrils as he closes his eyes tight as the shears snip again and again. He can feel the blonde breathing down the stylist neck.

Forty-five minutes later, the blonde is standing over him, her hand cupped under his chin turning his head this way and that way as the team of stylist stand back as their stench of fear fills the room.

“Is it to your liking Madam Potts?” The female asks quietly. Her voice barely above a shaky whisper.

“Whether it’s to my liking or not shouldn’t be your concern. What should be, is if it’s to _his_ … liking.”

“Yes Madam…” the female resigns.

Straightening up, she looks at the lady. “Your service is done here today. My assistant will see you and your team out.” She clips.

And just like that, it was over and on to his… attire.

He can’t stop his knees from shaking as he looks down at the tight white cotton pants he’s wearing. They sit low on his waist, snug on the hips and through the thighs and calves.

Skinny jeans he thinks.

Overrated and expensive. Really expensive. Skinny jeans.

Everything he’s wearing reeks of money. The black leather calf high lace up boots, the white tight button down short sleeve shirt, the white form fitting jacket with the black pearl buttons that fits perfectly on his body like a glove. Down to the cotton socks and the white cotton boxer briefs.

Goddamn if the entire outfit didn’t scream virgin.

Squeezing his eyes shut he tries to stop the quaking that rolls through his body. His skin is tingling with anticipation and fear. More fear than anything.

Willing it away, he pushes it deep down inside, swallowing it. He hates feeling like this. Helpless.

Shaking his head, he slips his hand under one of the many pillows on the bed. Pulling out his IPod, he plugs in his earbuds and pulls up his ITunes.

His grandma bought it for him when he turned seventeen. He cried when she gave it to him because he knew how much it must’ve cost. He remembers the nights she stood up late, sewing and ironing and baking and cooking. Any job she could take to make extra money. He even went with her several times to clean houses when he knew it would take her well into the late evening to finish. She’s sacrificed so much for him and here he is, in all this glitz and glamor.

God, how much he hates them.

Scrolling through his songs, a fresh wave of anger washes over him as his thoughts drift to his backpack. They went through it. He knows they did. When he came to, the little bit of clothes he was able to fold neatly and put in the backpack, which wasn’t much, were thrown on the couch.

And his IPod, the lock code was cracked. He tried putting in another code, but, it kept rejecting any type of security feature.

Fucking bastards…

Shaking his head, he pulls up a song and hits play.

Blaring loud in his ears, the pulsating sounds of Wide Awake feat: Jacob Banks “Love Me” cascades over him. His body slowly begins to hum and pulse to the sultry beat.

Laying down on the bed, the music drowns out his thoughts. His eyelids fall heavy as he tries to fight his mental exhaustion.

“Just a couple of minutes…” he mumbles to himself “Just a couple more—“ he doesn’t even get to finish sentence.

For the last words he hears before he passes out hum in his ears like an incantation…

 

_Lately I’ve been feelin’ like a renegade_

_Somebody save me_

_Standin’ in the midst of the crowd_

_But nobody sees me_

_Shoutin’ at the top of my lungs_

_But nobody hears me_

_I’ve been prayin’ for the rain to fall_

_Wash me down_

_So I’ll be born_

_Open heavens, let it pour_

_You can love me again (again, again)_

_You better love me again…_

**~*~**

 

The Great Hall is decorated in white, navy blue and silver. The massive crystal vases are overflowing with red and white roses, lilies and lilacs. The aromatic scent lingers in the air as many of the invited guests idly chat with one another.

The plush seats are covered in velvet drapes as red and white rose petals litter the walkway. The massive white rock pillars line the hall down one side and up the other as the soft glow of candles radiate, letting out a serene sense of warmth.

Guests still continue to flood in as their eyes take in the beautiful surroundings. They’ve never seen the inside of The Gard. Though there have been rumors, however, the reality proves to be so much better.

Taking his spot by the front of the hall, he’s say’s his one millionth,

_“Thank you for coming.”_

_“So glad you were able to make it.”_

_“No, please, thank you, for allowing me to share this special day with you.”_

_“Yes, well, it had to happen someday.”_

The smile on his face is plastered there until his jaw hurt.

A hand gently grabs hold of his bicep as he automatically responds to the touch without looking at its source “Yes, thank you for com—“

 _“Hm?_ Am I so easily shunned like your many guests?”

That voice quickly has his head snapping to the right. His eyes light up as he stares into the warmest, kindest eyes he’s ever seen.

“ _Ma_ …” he breathes.

Wrapping his massive arms around her small frame, he inhales her sweet scent. The scent of sunflowers and spring rain. “Ma…” he whispers again as he kisses her cheek.

Pulling out of the hug, but still he keeps her in his arms, he smiles big.

“Hi baby…” She smiles back at her son with the same love and devotion in her heart since the first day he was born. Tears wet her eyes as she breathes in quickly and shakes her head. Rubbing his shoulders, she presses a palm to his cheek. “Not planning to shave this scruff are you?” She laughs.

“Nope…” He chuckles and shakes his head “I kinda like it.”

“I kinda like it too. My son, so handsome. Look at you. I’m so proud of you Steve. And if your father were alive today, he would be proud of you too.”

A soft huff leaves his lips as he stares at his mother, his eyes glaze over with so much love for the woman who’s had to raise him alone since he was nine years old.

“Thank you. Thank you, Ma, for your words. They mean more to me than anything. You have no idea.”

Batting at her eyes, she tries to keep her tears at bay as she cups his chin. “Enough, today is not a day for sadness, today we celebrate. Tell me, are you nervous?” she asks smiling up at him.

The question settles over him like a cold blanket. Nervous? “No, I’m not. Actually.”

“Well, everyone handles it differently, I guess. Your father, he threw up.” She winks at him.

Gawking, Steve grimaces _“Ewww_ , Ma… he threw up? That’s… yeah, _uhm_ … disgusting and thank you for that visual by the way.”

Both of them laughing now, he pulls her back in for another hug, as he begins to walk her to her seat in the front. Changing the subject quickly, he rubs her shoulder “I trust your bedroom is exactly how you left it the last time you were here?”

“Yes, it is, thank you.”

“Good, good. I’m glad. How’s the VA?”

Sighing deeply, she leans into her son’s embrace, “Some days are easier than others. The cutbacks are making it harder and harder to continue to provide the much needed services for them. But, I’ll tell you what, we make do with what we have. And what we don’t have we make happen. They deserve it, these men and women who fight for our country, they deserve that and more.”

“You’re an angel, you know that Ma?” He smiles down at her.

“No…” she winks at him again poking his chest “you are.”

“Sarah!”

Both Steve and his mother turn to see a slim looking dark haired woman coming at her with arms stretched out and a smile that’ll make melt your heart.

“May!”

Steve steps back as his mom and May squeal and hug each other as both women begin to rattle and talk up a storm.

“I’ll just—“ taking several steps back, Steve goes to turn when his mother stops him in his tracks.

 _“Ah_ _ah_ … May, has my son been any trouble?”

Turning her brown eyes on Steve, she puts her hands on her hips and smirks. “Nothing I can’t handle. Besides, he knows if he gets outta line, I’ll just pick up the phone and call you.”

“Goddammit…” Steve swears and almost immediately regrets it.

“Steve!” Both women scold him in unison.

“Shit…” he slips out.

“Steve!”

“Sorry. I’m just going to go back—oh, its Sam. Hey buddy!” Steve calls out to Sam as he turns and leaves the two women giggling and shaking their heads at him as he squirms away.

Walking between the growing crowd, he almost makes it to where Sam is entertaining several emissaries when he’s stopped in his tracks.

“Captain… Rogers.”

A low guttural growl escapes his lips as the baby fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end from the voice that makes nails on a chalkboard sound like a fucking lullaby.

Steeling himself, he breathes deep as he slowly turns around and plasters yet another smile on his face.

“Maryse… Lightwood.” The distaste in his voice for her is clearly evident. It’s not like he’s trying to hide it. He could give a fuck less. Putting on his biggest smile and slapping on the charm real thick, he sighs “So _pleased_ to see you could make it. I was beginning to worry, since, you hadn’t RSVP’d, on whether or not you received the invitation. How are you?”

With a plastered smile on her face just as much as his, her eyes narrow into slits as she glares at him from head to toe. Her smile slowly fades, but stays painted on her mouth. “I’m very well. Thank you for asking, and _thank_ _you_ for inviting us.”

“Us?” Steve ask as he looks around. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see Robert. Is he here?”

“Yes, he is.” Clasping her hands out in front of her she presses her lips together as she eyes him suspiciously. “I must say, _none…_ of us ever thought this day would come.”

“Yes, that seems to be the consensus around here.” The corner of his lips curl into a smile. However, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Well, to be quite frank, your announcement came out of nowhere. So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t roll out the congratulations.” She glares at him as her chin juts out in defiance. “Even _arranged_ ones… there’s talk before they come true to form. There was no mention of anything from you, _Captain_. It’s all highly suspicious.”

Turning to face her completely, he squares his shoulders as he takes two steps forward. “What’s highly suspicious, Maryse?” He asks as he presses into her space and glares at her “If you have something to say, I suggest you say it now… and to my face.” He clips clenching his jaw.

Opening her mouth, a slight gasp escapes as she steps back from him.

“Captain Rogers! Congratulations are in order!” A hand comes up and clasp him on the shoulder.

He keeps his eyes on her as she breaks eye contact with him. Composing herself, she smiles at a guest walking by them.

“Robert, so very nice to see you. Thank you, I appreciate it.” Steve smiles at the older man.

“Well, to be honest at had a fifty to the contrary. But don’t blame me, it was your _Parabatai_. He started the pool.” Laughing he pulls his wife away but not before extending his hand to him and repeating his congratulations.

Shaking his head, he drops his eyes to the rose petals on the floor.

“Fuckin pret—“

“Pretentious… I could’ve told you that…”

Looking up he locks eyes with a world-wind of dark hair and a streak of blue as simmering blue eye shadow rests on almond eyes. A metallic blue jacket with black swirly circles match perfectly with a metallic blue button down shirt and metallic blue pants with a black bold line down the sides. And lastly, black shiny lace up boots.

Uniqueness from head to toe. Steve wouldn't expect any less from the man.  

“Magnus… Bane…” he smirks.

“Steven… Grant… Rogers. You know my first and last name, and I know your first, middle _and_ last name. So… since that’s outta the way.” Walking up to Steve, the warlock slowly circles him as he sizes up the bigger man from head to toe. His fingertips brushing his biceps, his shoulder blades and sliding down his back. A soft whistle slips through his lips as his eyes land on that perfect ass. Coming full circle, he stands in front of Steve. Buts he’s not done yet. His eyes slide up and down Steve’s muscular chest down to his thighs and back up to his face.

A glint shines in the warlocks eyes as he rolls his lips.

Arching his eyebrow, Steve cocks his head to the right as he stares back at him “So… your done eye-fucking me yet?”

His mouth drops open in a mock surprise as he clutches his chest with his shimmery blue painted nails. “Steven…” tsking him several times, Magnus looks around the great hall as he leans in “language, young man.” He chuckles “Besides, I’m allowed to look. You look good. Really good. But…” sighing deeply, he winks at him “you always do so, nothing new there.” He smirks as he moves off to his side. “I must say, that stubble… _mm_ … nice.”

Arching his eyebrow again, out of the corner of his baby blues, he follows him “Thanks. For the compliment.”

Whirling around, Magnus pokes a perfectly manicured finger to Steve’s chest. “Black suits you Steven. But, this isn’t a funeral. Or is it?” he smiles.

Breathing in deeply, exasperated, Steve rolls his eyes at him.

 _“Oooh_ … did I strike a chord?” he chides him.

Shaking his head, he looks around the hall and notices that the doors have closed. Everyone is here. Many have taken their seats, others have not. Every emotion falls from his face as he clenches his jaw.

Passing a hand down his bicep, Magnus pulls him back noticing the subtle shift.

“Steven, I was joking, you know.” He genuinely smiles up at him.

Shifting his eyes back to the warlock, Steve looks down at the red carpet laid out on the aisle. The scent of rose petals filling his lungs. Burrowing his brow, he rolls his lips and looks back up to Magnus and smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

“Seriously. Are you okay?”

“Yes!”

“Not nervous?”

“Jeezus fuck Magnus! You’re starting to sound like my mother now.” Steve glares at him.

“What?! Is she here?!” Magnus practically squeaks. “Please tell me you sat me down next to her.” His eyes soften as he looks up at him.

“Of course.” Extending his arm out, the warlock hooks his arm with Steve’s as he’s led through the dissipating crowd and to where his mother and May are seated talking up a storm and giggling.

“Ladies…” Steve interrupts their cackling as he shakes his head and grins.

“Steve, where are your man—“ his mother immediately jumps up from her seat before she can finish her sentence “Magnus!” she screams as he lets go of Steve’s arm and gets swooped up into Sarah’s arms.

Steve watches with a huge smile on his face as he hangs back picking up pieces here and there of their animated conversation.

“Where have you been Magnus! Last time I was here, Steve said you were out of the country?” Sarah asks.

Grabbing Sarah’s hand in his, Magnus does a lavish twirl with his finger as he pulls her in for another hug. “Oh sweetie, _ugh_ … you have no idea. I had to leave to London. Ragner, had yet another crisis. And you _know_ how he is. Everything’s a crisis.”

“Oh stop it…” Sarah pats his hand as they move to sit down.

Turning away, he shoves his hands in his pocket as he looks up at Sam who’s already tapping his watch as he looks back at Steve.

Nodding his head once, Steve makes his way to the altar. Loosening up his tie, he breathes in deeply as he slowly exhales. Rolling his neck, he glances at the crowd and watches as the last one’s standing make haste to their seats.

“Alright,” Sam leans over Steve’s shoulder “you ready for this?” he asks softly.

Rolling his lips, Steve nods his head once… again. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

"You know; we can still run.”

“We?” Steve turns his head slightly to the right. Sam’s in his peripheral.

“Yeah, _we_. I had Barton fill up the Quinjet pal. Say the word, and we can all get the fuck outta here, right now.” He stifles a laugh.

Looking directly in front of him, the redhead smirks at him with an undeniable fierceness in her eyes.

Glancing quickly to the front row, he looks upon the faces of the rest of his team. Wanda, Scott and Barton.

Wanda, still as a statue, her eyes lit up like the fourth of July as she stares up at Steve, Sam and Natasha.

Scott, giving Steve the good ol’ thumbs up with the biggest goofiest smile on his face.

And Barton, thumbing the exit sign and grinning.  

Looking at each and every one of them, Steve sees it clear as day. It’s etched into their faces.

Their undying loyalty to him.

 

**~*~**

 

The sound of a key sliding into the chamber and unlocking has him jolting upright almost instantly. Ripping the earbuds out of his ears, he shoves them and his IPod under a pillow. He quickly straightens up the jacket and slides his hands down his thighs. The door swings open as the tall blonde woman walks with nothing less than purpose back in.

Striding right up to him, she grabs him by his arm and lifts him effortlessly off the bed as she stares down at him and says…

“It’s time…”

 

**~*~**

 

With one loud bang of his staff, the Officiant’s voice rings out loud as it echoes throughout the hall, silencing everyone.

“Attention. The ceremony is about to commence.”

Everyone’s attention goes straight to the back of the hall as the grand doors slowly swing open.

Steve’s eyes are focused on the figure standing in the doorway draped in an all-white hooded robe.

The face completely obscured from prying eyes.

The tall blonde woman gives a gentle push as the figure begins to slowly walk down the aisle.

All eyes are on the slow movements of the figure, many are smiling, some are glaring with distrust.

Steve counts the seconds down as Sam steps from the altar to gently place a hand on the figure’s elbow to help as a guide.

Gently leading the figure to stand in front of Natasha, he turns the body to face Steve. Barely two feet of distance stands between them.

He slowly drags his eyes down the length of the figure and back up again. Pausing only when the scent of fear wafts towards him, striking out like a viper.

Hearing the Officiant clear his throat, Steve glances at him as he nods slowly.

Stepping into the figure, Steve slowly reaches up to the sides of the hood, hooking his thumbs in, his fingers splay against the cool soft cotton, he slowly pulls it back until a loose lock of brunette hair is freed and followed by a full head of brunette waves.

Steve drinks in the vision in front of him as the crowd gasp in unison under murmurs and whispers.

His knuckles brush against smooth youthful olive skin as his eyes slide down to lips so pink and full with a hint of blood in the creases.

_He’s been chewing on his lips…_

A cleft in his chin has Steve staring and committing to memory every inch of his face.

His lashes are black as night and thick as oil, and, he knows, that hidden under those lashes are eyes so gray, their like a thunderstorm in the middle of the ocean. Uncontrollable and merciless.

Waves of brunette hair hang low as they skim and cling along the base of his neck.

He watches him closely, engrossed in every movement he makes no matter how elusive. His eyes slide down to his mouth as he watches the boy roll his lips together, forcing back a full body stutter. He’s practically quaking in the very spot he’s glued to.

Off slightly to the right of the brunette, Steve notices a subtle shift in Natasha as her hands twitch a tad but stay at her sides. She’s still as stone but ready to catch him if he were to stumble back.

He hasn’t looked up at the older man yet, he knows he won’t unless he’s _told_ too. His palms are sweaty and he’s dug his nails into them, slicing little crescent moons into the skin. Blood beginning to pool into his nails. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t even feel it.

He’s numb.

He keeps his eyes diverted down. Focusing only on the polished hardwood mahogany floor beneath his feet. His heartbeat is racing rapidly in his ears. The pressure has his lungs constricting and fighting for some oxygen. He feels light headed and nauseated. He can’t even remember when was the last time he had a bite to eat. Every meal that has been brought to him he just stared at it as if it were some sort of fatal disease. His throat feels dry and scratchy as if he’s swallowed an entire desert. Completely voided of any and all saliva to coat and soothe his vocal chords.

He’s hot and sweaty, cold and chilled to the bone all at once.

Time ceases all around him… he’s a mere shadow in their world.

Someone is speaking… are they speaking to him? No. They can’t be speaking to him. This is their world. He doesn’t exist in their world. He’s not supposed to be here. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening, he’s going to wake up any minute back in his bedroom safe and warm and all this is just going to be a horrible nightmare.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forces back a scream as he clamps down on his tongue. Blood seeping from where he sliced into the meat of it.

His breathing escalates into erratic and ragged tuffs of air as he begins to lose his grip on reality. He’s wound up tighter than a piano chord and the last tether holding him together at the seams is crashing down all around him ready to snap.

He loses his battle against his tears as they slide down his cheeks leaving stained tracks against his olive skin and matting his lashes.

A big callused hand cups the side of his face as the boy lets out a soft gasp, resonating deep within him as his breath gets caught in the back of his throat. The feel of _his_ thumb brushing away still flowing tears has the boy whimpering softly as his whole body goes slack and leans into _his_ … touch.

An instant calm falls over the boy, his eyes gloss over and flutter shut as he exposes his neck to _him_.

Bridging the gap between them with one step, Steve leans down into him. Still cradling his face with his palm, he lifts his face and gently presses it to his neck. Allowing the boy to drown in his… _scent_.

Gasping softly into the crook of the older man’s neck, the boy begins to nuzzle and whimper as his body’s natural instincts kick in.

His lips graze the boy’s earlobe as he whispers “Look. At. Me…”

The command in his voice pulls the brunette instantly snapping his eyes forward staring up at him.

“I—“ struggling to swallow, the boy begins to shake and gasp for air “I… c-can’t… breathe…” the boy stutters.

 _“Ssshh_ … it’s okay… breathe…” Steve whispers. His lips barely move but, the heat of his breath has the brunette gasping quietly as he fixates on the older man. His skins alive with the touch of his fingers grazing his jawline.

His fingertips leave tracks of fire and ice where moments before he felt nothing. Slowly dropping his hands to his side, he takes on step back as he looks at the boy, turning to Sam, he plucks the thin silver band from the blue and silver satin ring pillow. Sliding his hand into his left hand, he gently lifts it up and slowly slips the ring onto his index finger.

The boy looks at his hand and cautiously turns it palm side up and then palm side down. The look of sheer terror on his face is undeniable.

The air seems to shift and drop all around him as he catches a slight movement off to his left, peering up he notices a woman with steely green eyes and hair so red, it looks like it was set ablaze upon her shoulders.

Nudging his elbow, she glares at him as she lowers her eyes to the same blue and silver satin ring pillow she’s holding in her hands and atop of it, sits a thicker silver band.

Lowering his eyes, the brunette stares at it in utter confusion. He knows what it is, he just can’t tear his eyes away from it. Chewing on his bottom lip, he breathes broken through his nose, furrowing his brow he feels a lump rising in his throat and the sensation of bile threatening to surface.

“Take the ring. Place it on his index finger of his left hand. Now.” The redhead whispers to him. Her tone is controlled yet firm.

Lifting his trembling hand, he gently picks the silver ring up. Its heavy in weight as his fingers wrap around it and lead him to the older man’s hand.

Steve reaches his left hand out and watches as the boy fights to control his full on body tremors as he slips the ring onto his index finger. Quickly pulling his hand away, he doesn’t look up at him. He keeps his eyes glued to the older man’s chest.

The Officiant taps his staff to the Ancient Ceremonial Crystal, its luminescent glow cast an ethereal feel around the altar. “It is time for… Steven Grant Rogers and… Yasha Buchanan Barnes to mark each other with the Wedded Union Rune. A Rune on the hand, a rune on the heart. A union… is born.”

Turning to Sam, Steve takes his stele from him. Looking down at the boy, he momentarily shifts his eyes to Natasha and nods once.

Taking his cue, she steps up behind him and pulls the robe completely off. Handing it off to Barton who’s instantly at her side, he quickly turns and settles back in his seat.

Steve keeps his eyes focus on his face. He can see that he’s barely holding it together, he needs to get this moving or the boy is going to drop in the very spot he’s cemented to.

Wrapping his fingers around his slim wrist, he touches his stele against the crystal as it lights up from tip to tip. Brushing his thumb against the brunette’s pulse point, he glances up as his eyes lock onto the boy’s face.

His lips are slightly part, red and swollen from constantly chewing on them. Moisten by his insistent licking and sucking that bottom lip into his mouth.

Closing his eyes, Steve sucks in a deep breath. His grip tightens around the boy’s wrist as he pushes up the jacket cuff exposing his skin. Opening his eyes, Steve glances up at him.

His gray eyes haven’t wavered from staring at his wrist. Closing his eyes, he clips back at whimper as he feels a line of heat searing into his flesh, he can actually hear the sizzling of his skin singe as the process of marking him with _his_ rune continues for several minutes.

Once Steve is done with his wrist, he passes his stele back to Sam. Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, Sam hands him back to him as he steadies his hand with complete and total control as he begins to draw the rune under the boy’s left clavicle.

Huffing out, he inhales deeply and holds a breath in as Steve burns the rune into his chest. He follows the same pattern as his wrist as the minute’s tick by painfully slow.

Dropping his hand to his side, Steve stares at the rune burned into the brunette’s chest. Glancing up he watches as those gray eyes flutter open, he can see the fear in them. Hell, he can _fucking_ smell it all over him.

Thank God no one else can smell it.

Forcing back a growl that’s trying to rip loose from his throat, he grabs the boy’s wrist and places his stele in his palm. “Mark me, now…” he commands.

His hand begins to shake horribly as he gasps out looking horrified.

Moving swiftly, Steve unbuttons the top three buttons from his shirt, wrapping his hand around the boy’s wrist he shoves it over to the Crystal, the glowing light flickers out as it coils itself around his stele.

The quick electric shock wave pulses up through the brunette’s fingers, his hand and up his arm as he stifles back a jolt of flashing pain.

With a quick yank of his wrist, thrusting him forward, he stumbles over his own feet, practically falling into Steve’s chest. Straightening him up, Steve grips his wrist and brings it to his chest. The tip of his stele pressed up under his left clavicle.

“Like this.” Steve’s hand covers his as he brings the boy’s trembling hand and proceeds to mark him.

Once the rune is complete, he undoes his cuff-link and raises his shirt up to his elbow and follows the same pattern with the boy’s hand that he did on his chest.

Once it’s done, he takes his stele from the boy’s vice-like death grip, slipping it in his back pocket, he laces his fingers with the boy’s as he turns them both to face the Officiant.

He zones in and out as he hears bits and pieces of words and praises of honor and sacrifice, of duty and obedience.

The red hot pain in his chest and on his wrist has him feeling as if he’s going to throw up or pass out.

And somewhere, in the recess of his mind, in all the muddled mess, he thought he heard him utter ‘ _thank_ you’ to their friends and family, and to the emissaries of the Clave for gracing them with their presence on this blessed day.

 _Thank_ _you?_

_These people aren’t my friends._

_These people, they’re not my family._

_They don’t know me._

Uncertainty flickering in his gray eyes.

“The union is now complete.” The Officiant’s voice rings out loud throughout the ceremonial hall. “You may seal it with a kiss.”

Squeezing his hand lightly, Steve lets go as he slowly snakes his arm around his waist, pulling the boy flushed to his chest.

The increasingly loud pounding of his heart echoes in his ears. He’s fighting desperately to control his breath and failing miserably as it spikes in quick short spurts. The full body tremble coming off of him is instantly quieted as Steve slides his other hand up his jaw. His thumb softly tracing the outline of his lips.

Spreading his fingers to the small of his back, Steve presses the boy closer.

Closing the gap, his lips barely skim the brunette’s as he stops himself and watches those hypnotic gray eyes stare back up at him. Enthralled, he leans into him a bit more as he moves his thumb teasingly across his swollen bottom lip.

The feather-light touch has the boy stuttering an intake of breath.

Bringing his hand from the small of his back, Steve cups his face with both palms. And that touch, that singular touch with rough and callused hands, but… soft and gentle, sends shock-waves firing all over the brunette’s body. His skin feels as if a thousand feathers are slowly being drawn up and dragged down the length of his body. The sensation is too much, but not nearly enough.

He wants nothing more than to run away from here get as far away as he can.

But he can’t. No matter what his mind is screaming for him to do, his body… his body wills him to do the opposite.

His feet have sprouted roots and cemented him to this very spot. His heartbeat is racing and the lump in his throat is making it impossibly hard for him to swallow. His breathing starts to come in shallow and his eye lids begin to flutter as he’s hit with a wave of dizziness.

The smell of his anxiety and his nervousness slam into Steve like a runaway freight train. Rolling his lips, he steadies the boy as he anchors his feet to the wood floor. He knows if he lets him go, he’ll drop to the floor immediately.

His fingers gently soothe and stroke the softness of his cheeks as he tries to calm him down. Leaning into to his ear, his lips brush against the smoothness of the shell as his heated breath warms the boy’s chilled skin sending lightening flash shivers down his spine. His head lulls deeper into Steve’s palms as his eyes roll to the back of his head and he lets out a soft, gasp. A pained whimper laced in need and instinct.

Clipping back the desire to scent him, Steve brings the boy’s face up to his. His eyes are completely closed and his lips, _fuck_ … so red and swollen from his chewing on them.

Pressing in, Steve lets his lips ghost over them. The boy’s breath hitches as his lashes flutter and cast shadows dancing across his flushed skin. His plump red lips slowly part as Steve leans in and gently presses his lips to the brunette’s.

His hands keep his face secured to his, not letting him pull away, Steve lets the kiss linger a bit longer. Its soft and yielding, just lips… nothing more, nothing less. Feeling, tasting, taking and giving.

But, controlled. Always… controlled.

The brunette’s nose is pressed up to Steve’s scruff as a low moan slips through his lips. With his instincts jolting again, he moans into the kiss as he feels his entire body ignited in flames. The heat instantly engulfing him as he struggles to understand what’s happening to him. A dull ache pulls from deep down in his belly has him gasping for air as a sweet clench grips him tight.

A pitiful whimper slips through his lips and into Steve’s mouth as he savors it and gulps it down.

His knees completely buckle out from under him as Steve quickly wraps his arm around his waist, breaking the kiss as he pulls him into him, tighter still, as the guests all break out in cheer and loud boisterous clapping.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please, may I have your attention.” The tall blondes voice rings loud from the back of the hall. “Thank you all for coming, please, my assistants will lead you all to the reception hall where, the celebration is just commencing. Please, this way everyone.”

Several women dressed in identical, impeccable dresses begin to gather the guests and escort them out of the wedding hall. The blonde makes her way to the altar as she keeps her steel green eyes on the young boy.

The boy has his face buried into Steve, his now… _husband’s_ chest, as his arms hang limply by his side.

One arm is wrapped around his waist as the other gently begins petting his hair.

“Congrats, Steve.” Clasping a hand on his shoulder, Sam looks over at his best friend’s new husband.

Smirking, he shakes his head as he looks over at Natasha, whose green eyes are trained on the brunette’s back. The corners of her lips turned up into a grin.

Steve, looks over at his mother as she waves at him. Tears streaming down her cheeks as she places her right hand over her heart. Blowing a kiss to her son, she mouths _“I_ _love_ _you_ _Steven…”_ as her eyes glaze over to the boy cradled in his arms. Smiling big, she blows him another kiss as she and May are directed towards the exit and unto the reception hall where the rest of the guests are now gathering.

Nodding, his heart swells and pools with love for his mother. The one person besides his team that will always be there for him.

“Captain Rogers."

Glancing at the blonde in front of him, Steve reigns his emotion instantly.

“I can take _him_ now.” The blonde holds her hand out.

Nodding, Steve slowly begins to coax the boy, “Hey, hey? You with me? _Hm?”_

A small whimper clings to the boy’s lips as he buries his face deeper into the soft fabric of Steve’s wedding suit.

Steve can clearly hear the subtle tuffs of air he’s inhaling as he softly pants against his chest.

“Listen to me,” his voice now is cold and full of authority “You’re going to go with Ms. Potts. I’ll come for you in a little bit. Now, do as you’re told.”

Pulling the boy out of his arms, he turns him around and into Ms. Pott’s waiting hands. Fumbling with a step down, Steve steadies him with a strong hold on his arm. Keeping his head bowed, she grabs him by his arm and begins to lead him down the aisle.

“Ms. Potts…”

Halting in her step, she looks back up to the altar “Yes, Captain Rogers?” she asks, nothing less than professionalism.

“See to it that the guests are all being attended to. Specifically, the emissaries of the Clave.”

“Your orders were precise, Sir. I will personally oversee them myself.”

“Very well then.” With a curt nod, he dismisses her.

Turning on her heels, she ushers the boy out of the wedding hall.

Breathing in deeply, Steve takes a moment and looks down at his feet, several scattered rose petals are shuffled about as a hip bumps him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Looking up, he sees Natasha grinning big “So, is it okay to hug you now that you’re a _married_ man?”

Glancing over at her, her question throws him off a bit. “What?”

“Oh my _God_!” Wanda all but jumps out of her skin as she claps her hands together. “Steve!” she cries out. A huge smile flashes across her face, lighting up her beautiful features as she grabs at Scott’s hand, pulling him as they rush up to him. Wrapping her arms around Steve she rocks him from side to side.

Hugging her back, Steve lets Wanda sway them both, she’s the little sister he never had, so, he indulges her whims and her eccentricity.

“Steve!” She practically shrieks as she grabs his arms and tries to shake him “He’s so cute! He’s _ugh!_ He’s adorable! Yasha? That’s his name right? Yasha Buchanan Barnes? Or is it Rogers now?”

“It’s Rogers, right?” Scott extends his hand out “Congrats Cap, you got a—“ glancing over at Barton who’s still sitting down with a shit-eating grin on his face, he crinkles his nose as if he’s trying to remember something. His brows instantly shoot up as it comes back to him, what he was trying to remember _“whatta_ _man_ _whatta_ _man_ _whatta_ _man_ _what_ _a_ _mighty_ _good_ _man…”_ snickering, Scott drapes his arms around Steve and bear hugs him as he breaks down laughing.

“Really? Salt n Pepa? You went there Scotty?” Sam gawks at Scott as Barton finally gets on his feet and clutches his belly as he lets out that throaty laughter he’s known for.

“You gotta admit, that was a good one Sam. Fuckin Scott.” Barton pulls Steve in for a hug too, smacking his back twice, he looks towards the exit “S’not to late Cap. Bird’s fueled and ready to go when you are.” Stepping back, he juts his chin out towards the back door.

“Stop it Clint.” Natasha, shoves at her boyfriend. “Steve’s not going anywhere, are you Steve?” she smirks up at him.

“Well, I wouldn’t go anywhere either if my new husband looked like _that_.” Scott chimes in “What?” he looks around as he notices everyone staring at him. Shrugging his shoulders, he leans his head on Wanda’s shoulder and bats his lashes “He’s dreamy…”

“Wanda, will you slap him.” Sam chuckles as Wanda smacks Scott’s arm.

“Alright, I think it’s time we all head into the reception, besides, Rogers here, has a new husband waiting for him in the marital suite. Formal introductions are waiting.” Natasha steps down as Barton laces his fingers with hers.

“That’s our cue.” Wanda adds as both her and Scott fall into step behind Nat and Barton.

Watching as they walk out the wedding hall, Steve looks on as the doors slowly close behind them.

“Hey,” Sam clasps a hand on his shoulder “you alright?”

Breathing in deeply, Steve exhales and runs his fingers through his hair. Shaking his head once, he rubs the back of his neck “Fuck. I need a smoke.”

 

**~*~**

 

Sitting with his hands clasps together, he’s white knuckling as his legs continue to shake terribly. Ever since Ms. Potts lead him into yet another room and locked the door behind her, his heart’s been racing a mile a minute.

Sweat clings to his brow, matting his hair to his face. It’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe. The feeling as if the room is squeezing the very air out of his lungs has him dropping his head between his legs, rocking back and forth he tries to gulp down several quick breaths of air.

He can’t think straight; his mind is hazy and clouded. Too much noise.

He can’t understand what just happened. How? How did he get here? He can’t be here. That’s right. This… this is all some sort of nightmare. A twisted fucked up nightmare that he’s going to wake from any minute. He’ll wake up and he’ll be in his bedroom. The rain pelleting his window, soothing him back to sleep. Soft vibrations coursing through his body as he sinks deeper and deeper into his slumber.

Except, that’s not what happening.

Voices outside the door have him snapping his head up as he scrambles to his feet. Backing up to a corner of the wall, he wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs. Fidgeting, he wraps his arms around himself as he stares at the door watching it open.

His breath is caught in his throat as he stares at the doorway.

He’s here…

Pressing himself into the wall, he silently begs it to open up and swallow him whole.

He can’t tear his eyes away from the man. He’s tall, big, real big. His dark hair has that perfectly disheveled look to it. His eyes are the bluest he’s ever seen. But there’s nothing behind it. No kindness, no warmth. They’re shielded and wrapped in ice. Cold and baron.

Harsh.  

His lips are pressed together as he fights the urge to scream and run.

Walking into the room, he crosses the distance almost instantly.

Stepping into his space, he feels as if he’s being swallowed up by him. Avoiding any eye contact, he quickly drops his eyes to the floor. Trying hard not to look up at him, he bows his head lower.

Cupping his chin, Steve forces him to look up at him, his thick lashes cast long shadows sliding against his cheeks.

“Look at me, Yasha.” He orders him.

Like a switch turning on he stops trembling instantly. An order that ignites his body to respond automatically. Staring up at him, he doesn’t even blink, he forgot how.

Keeping his chin nestled between his thumb and index finger, he stares into those damn gray eyes again.

“In a moment, we’re going to walk out into that reception hall. You will not speak to anyone directly, nor, indirectly unless _I_ allow you to. And the way I will allow you to is by addressing you by your name if and when I introduce you.” His voice is low and stern. Dripping with the authority he yields and bends his way. “You will sit where I tell you to sit, you will eat the food that is presented to you. You will smile and be respectful. And above all, you will address me as, _Husband_.”

He chokes on a whine that lodged itself in his throat, shifting his eyes to the left, he’s immediately pulled back to those steel encased blue eyes.

Gripping his chin tighter, he glares at the boy.

“Do I make myself clear, _Yasha?”_

Nodding his head once, he fights the tremble that’s slowly creeping up his body.

“Use your words, _Yasha.”_

His lips feel glued shut as he struggles to form a word. Forcing his lips to move, he finally finds his voice, shaky and barely able to keep it together, he looks up at him “Y-yes…”

Narrowing his eyes, he asks “Yes? What?”

“Y-yes… _H-husband_ …”

Leaning in, he takes a step closer, careful not to touch him, Steve’s hot breath hums in his ear “Good, _boy_.”

A quick rap at the door has Steve letting go of his chin and stepping back. The shift in the air is instantaneous.

“Come in.” he orders. His eyes are still on the boy, never leaving his face for one second.

“Captain Rogers? It’s time.”

Turning around to face her, he walks over to the bar, picking up a bottle, he pours himself a shot of dark amber liquid. Gulping it back, he licks his lips as he rakes his fingers through his stubble, within the next couple of days, if he doesn’t shave, he’ll have a full beard.

“I trust everything is in order?”

“Yes Sir.” She answers flatly.

Without looking at Yasha curled into himself, Steve walks over to him and grabs him roughly by the arm, pulling him away from the wall. Walking him towards the door, Ms. Potts steps out of the way as they both make their way out into the long corridor.

Practically dragging him, Yasha struggles to keep up with Steve.

He keeps his eyes focus straight ahead to the massive solid oak double doors. The music coming from the other side is loud and cheery. The laughter and conversations seem to be flowing easily, a world that continues to spin as his world, crumbles and crashes to the ground, leaving nothing but dust and ashes where his life once stood.

He vaguely notices the doors slowly swing open as the hand that gripped his arm moves down to softly snake around his waist. Lips touch and brush against his temple as he’s being pulled closer to the older man.

No. Not the older man, but, his… _Husband_.

 _“H-husband_.” he whispers to himself. Saying the title as if he can force himself to believe it.

“Good, _boy_. That’s right. _Husband_.” He breathes into his soft waves. “Now, look up and… smile.”

They’re met with a tsunami of loud clapping and whistling, cheering and silverware clinking against crystal glasses.

All at once voices and shouts collide with each other. Fighting to be heard above the other as Steve walks his new husband into the swarm of people buzzing everywhere.

Bright flashes snap and pop all around them. Scrunching his eyes, he turns his face left, then right as he tries to shield himself from the heat of the cameras flashes.

“Captain Rogers! Captain Rogers! Here! Look over here! Let’s get a picture of you and your new husband!”

“Smile this way! Over here! C’mon! Let’s get a good look at him Cap!”

“Hey Yasha! Smile for the camera! Yasha! Yasha! This way! Over here!”

Steve stops as the photographers all snap photos in rapid succession of them.

Careful not to crowd them, Sam, Nat, Clint, Scott and Wanda flank Steve and Yasha from both sides, he doesn’t even remember seeing when they joined them.

“Hey, hey. Back up,” Sam glares at one of the photographers as he slips in a little too close.

“It’s okay Sam.” Steve pats his friend on the shoulder “One more picture and that’s it.” Steve’s voice rings loud and commanding.

“How about a kiss?! C’mon! How about a kiss for the camera?! Wha’dya say,  _huh?”_ One of the photographers yells out, the guests only adding fuel to the fire as they begin to whistle and cheer them on.

Wrapping his hand around Yasha’s waist tighter, he can feel him shaking as he brings the brunette closer to him. His thumb slowly begins to circle his hip bone; his fingers dig in deeper, searing imprints into his flesh through the soft material of his pants.

“A kiss then.” He looks at the young boy in his arms, “After that, Ms. Potts will show you all out. I’m a married man after all. I have a husband who needs my undivided attention and,” brushing a strand of loose hair away from his face, he tucks it behind his ear “I intend to give him just that. Plus, I owe him a dance. _Our_ , first dance.” Steve smiles on as more flashes erupt around them.

Pulling his arm from around Yasha, he twists him so that he’s leaning into his side. Sliding his hand up the back of his neck, he tangles his fingers within the baby soft waves. Reaching up with his other hand, he cups his face and lifts his chin bringing his lips to his. Anchoring himself, he fights the urge to _scent_ him again. What little he does allow himself, pulls and drives him forward.

Brushing his lips with his, he softly slots them together. Molding and yielding into the kiss, he can feel the boy’s temperature rising, a tidal wave of heat engulfing both of them.  

Fighting every instinct in his body that demands him to take, Steve’s fingers slide down to the back of his neck pressing into the soft skin as his grip tightens on the boy.

Whimpering into the kiss, Yasha’s finger twists into Steve’s suit jacket, his bottom lip caught in-between the older man’s lips, and just as quickly as it came, he pulled away. Kissing his cheek, Steve brushes his lips against his ear. His hot breath combined with the soft hairs of his growing beard send tremors shooting down his spine.

“Smile. Look at me. Smile. And look at them. Now.” Steve murmurs to him as his cheek brushes against the boy’s. Pulling him out of his arms, he stares down at him, watching him closely as his lips slowly begin to form a forced smile.

Carding his fingers through his hair, he rakes his fingertips against his tender scalp, gripping his hair by the roots, he pulls making the boy stifle a yelp as he touches his forehead to his.

“You can do better than that, can’t you, _Yasha_ …” he whispers. His brilliant smile blinds him like an explosion of a thousand moonbeams lighting up the night sky.

His rough hand palms his cheek as those steel blue eyes bore a hole into his soul. “Yes, yes, you _can_ do better than that.” He whispers softly.

Nodding his head, Yasha opens his mouth “Y-yes… _Husband.”_  

Flashes explode all around them as Steve turns them to face the cameras.

Forcing a smile, Yasha stares out at the sea of onlookers. Many clapping and cheering the happy couple.

Others, stand there, scrutinizing them. Peeling them apart, layer by layer. Waiting and watching for a slip up. Any little hint or inkling to solidify the charade.

“Cap, Cap! Over here! Just one last picture.”

A quick round of flashes once again and Ms. Potts is waving the photographers away.

“Gentleman, thank you for coming. My staff will see you out.” Waving towards a group of men, Ms. Potts signals them to lead the photographers away.

“Captain Rogers,” Ms. Potts waves over to the wedding table “this way please.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Sam taps at the microphone next to the DJ booth as he waves a hand in the air “can I have your attention please.”

Steve looks over at the stage as he slips his arm around the brunette’s slender waist. Feeling a tug on his arm, he looks over and see’s Natasha handing him two champagne flutes. Nodding his head, he lets his grip go on the boy as he takes them both from the redhead and offers one to him.

Staring down at the glass, he looks up at Steve, confused.

“Take it.” Steve orders. “One sip, that’s it.”

Nodding his head, Yasha takes the glass and stares down at. He doesn’t know what it is. Daring to take a peek at everyone gathered around some sitting, some standing, he notices they all have the same glass in their hands.

And every single last one of them, stares at him as if he were on display.

“Now,” Sam, steps away from the booth with a glass of champagne in one hand and the microphone held gently in the other “Seeing as I am the best man, I was told, along with that title, I guess, I needed to make a speech. So… here it goes." Clearing his throat, Sam looks at his best friend "Steve, we’ve known each other since we were what? Seven? Yeah, we were seven, and you we were taking  fighting lessons, I came in late and our instructor Mr. Logan paired us up and I remembered I laughed cause, shit man, you were way smaller than me and I thought to myself I was gonna whip your ass.”

A rolling laughter ripples through the crowd as Steve shakes his head and arches his eyebrow at his best bud. Glancing at the table where his mother is sitting, she’s beaming at him as her eyes shift from her son to his new husband standing to his left.

“Yeah, well, that didn’t happen. Let me tell you all, Steve laid me out flat on my back. One hit, I didn’t even see it coming. I was out for the count! Laying on that mat, looking up at this little runt with a mop of dark hair with all this intensity in his eyes that in all honesty, I wouldn’t have minded staying on that mat for a bit longer.”

Sam’s story has them all ‘ _awing’_   as he presses on. “But, Steve wasn’t having it, he extended his hand out, and helped me up. And you know what he said to me?” Sam shakes his head as he looks fondly at Steve. “He said ‘Don’t let appearances fool you. There’s plenty of wolves out there in sheep’s clothing. Don’t ever let your guard down. Ever.’ Can you believe it? Seven years old, and look what he told me. Right there and then I knew, wherever that little guy went, I went. We’ve been to hell and back, more times than I can even count, but, I always know, no matter what, Steve has my back like I have his.” Taking a deep breath, Sam glances down at his feet before looking up again. “So, when Steve came to me and told me he was getting married, you can imagine my surprise. He sat me down and asked me to stand and bare witness for him. I didn’t even question him. Didn’t have too. I was honored that he asked me.” Breathing deeply, Sam rolls his lips as he lets several seconds pass, waiting for the wave of emotions to wash over him. Nodding his head, his big brown eyes gleam brightly as he puts on the signature Wilson charm. “Steve, you’re a good man. A wonderful son and a hell of a friend.” Sam glances over to where the team is standing “And I can say, from all of us, you’re not just our friend. You’re our brother. There isn’t anything you won’t do for anyone. Your kind, caring, loving, generous and passionate about everything in life, so I know, as a husband, you’ll be that and so much more.”

Raising his glass to Steve, Sam smiles big “Take care of one another. Have faith and patience. And above all… love each other… so please everyone, lets raise our glasses to Steve, and Yasha! Congratulations!”

“To Steve and Yasha!” the reception hall erupts in claps, cheers, whistles and a chorus of well wishes for the new couple. The band gears up and begins to play their wedding song.

Taking a sip of champagne, Steve glances at him and nods for him to do the same. He watches as he takes a slow sip and grimaces at the taste. Taking the glass out of his hand, Steve hands them over to a server.

Putting his hand on the small of his back, Steve leads Yasha to the middle of the dance floor.

Glancing around quickly, he watches as everyone stays standing and cameras begin to flash again.

Taking the lead position, securing his right hand around his waist, he holds his left hand out to his husband.

An olive branch.

Not taking, but waiting.

The brunette glances down at Steve’s hand, palm side up, its and extension, an invitation. He knows that all eyes are burning a hole into his skull right about now. Steadying himself, he closes his eyes and slips his fingers across the older man’s palm. It's rough and soft at the same time, the feel of his skin has his fingers trembling slightly.

Noticing the shift, Steve slowly curls his fingers towards the young boy. His fingers intertwining with his as he slowly pulls him closer.

The soft, melodic sounds of Charlotte Day Wilson’s “Work” begins to engulf them both as Steve leads Yasha into their first dance as a married couple.

Slowly, Steve sways him left, then right as his palm lays flushed against the small of his back.

Pressing him closer to his chest, Yasha stares up at Steve as Steve stares down at him. And for one instant, one moment everything and everyone around them melts away to a blur.

The way Steve moves his hips to the sensual sounds coming from the band has Yasha following and matching his every move.

Dragging his steel blue eyes down the boy’s lean frame, he catches himself and forces his eyes back up to the brunette’s face. He begins to wonder which one of his decisions was the lesser of two evils.

If he thought the feel and movements of his new husband’s body against his was a temptation, then clearly staring at his full pink lips, the sweet cleft in his chin, and that jawline is nothing less than pure torture. Even at his young age, Steve knows, that jawline is fucking lethal.

But…

Nowhere near as lethal…

As those hauntingly gray eyes staring up at him so full of fear and innocence…

And it’s that innocence that has Steve’s mind wondering off, thinking of all the things, all the dirty things to do to his body. To feel his body, arch up under him, to feel those nails rake red streaks into his muscled back. To have those young supple thighs wrap around his hips as he slowly pushes into him, opening up slowly, as he takes him inch by inch until he’s fully seethed in him. Steve can almost hear Yasha as he cries out a painful moan…

Forcing that thought out of his mind, he moves his hand from the small of his back and laces his fingers through the hair brushing the back of his neck. Raking his fingernails in his scalp, he slowly pulls him closer, closer still pressing his body up against his as he leans his head down a bit, exposing his neck to the boy.

Steve knows exactly what he’s doing, what he’s going for when a mournful cry slips from the boy’s lips as he presses his nose to the crook of Steve’s neck.

His fingers begin to knead in Steve’s hand as he slowly moves Yasha’s hand to his chest.

Clawing at Steve’s tux, Yasha’s eyes flutter as he buries his face deeper into his neck. The need to scent the older man is overpowering him; he’s never smelled anyone like him. His body is bowing and doing things he’s never felt before. It’s as if he has no control over himself anymore.

Low, barely audible whines escape his lips as he mouths against Steve’s neck. His legs feel like jelly as his body wills him to move closer and press his hips into his husband.  

 

_It’s gonna take a bit of work_

_Oh oooh work_

_Now that you’re here_

_Woah oh work_

_Cause people come and go_

_But I think you should know_

_That I haaa_

_I think this’ll work_

_Ohhhhh ohhhhh ohhhhh ohhhhh_

_It’s gonna take a little time_

_But with you by my side_

_I won’t let go_

_To I’ve got what’s mine_

_Cause people come and go_

_But you should know_

_That I that haaaa_

_I’ll take it slow_

_Ohhhhh ohhhhh ohhhhh ohhhhh_

_It’s gonna take a bit of work_

_Woah oh work_

_Now that you’re here_

_Woah work_

 

_It’s gonna take a bit of work_

_Oh ooooh work_

_Now that you’re here_

_Wohoo work_

 

Pulling the boy’s face away from his neck elicits a whine unlike anything Steve has ever heard. A sound so painful in raw aching need that pulled at Steve’s core, clenching hard.

A low growl rumbles deep in his throat as Steve runs the tip of nose along the boy’s jaw. His free hand digs into his slender hips as his fingers bruise his tender flesh.

Clipping back a groan, Yasha exposes all of his throat to the older man as he feels his heated breath against his skin and softly pants.

Steve wills himself not to scent the boy. He can’t. He won’t.

He shouldn’t…

But…

Grazing his lips against the gift presented to him, Steve gives in and…

 _Sniff_ …

Fuck… It was brief and nothing like scenting, but it was enough for Steve. It was enough for him to pull back quickly as the soft, innocent scent of vanilla and honey waft under his nose. Stepping back, Steve snakes his arm around his waist as the guests begin to clap again, signaling the end of their first dance as a married couple.

He’s in daze as the swarm of people start to overwhelm him as the flurry of voices crowd his brain.

He’s shifted left and right as introductions are made and hands are shaken, he’s kissed on his cheeks and pulled into tight hugs.

Voices and people melt and merge as his vision blurs, time slows down and everything around him seems to cease.

His throat begins to close in on him as the oxygen is slowly being cut off.

Words and bits of broken conversation filter in as he tries to suck in tuffs of air into his burning lungs.

_“… you both look so handsome…”_

_“… how do you pronounce your name?”_

_“… the food is delicious…”_

_“… drink up buddy!”_

_“… he’s awfully pale…”_

_“… so, you’re a married man now… you said it won’t change anything… you promised…”_

_“… Romanian? Or… Russian?”_

_“… he’s so beautiful… my God, he’s breathtaking. You’re a lucky man, Captain…”_

_“… I’m so proud of you, son…”_

_“… he’s really skinny…”_

Lifting a trembling hand to his chest, he tries to unbutton his jacket. It’s constricting and he begins to hyperventilate. Gasping for air, his eyes flutter as his knees buckle under him.

_“… ew… what’s wrong with him?”_

Steve’s temple is throbbing as he turns away just in time to see his husband start to collapse.

The floor quickly coming up to meet him as he faintly hears the older man yell out his name.

“Yasha!”

 

**~*~**

Pacing back and forth, Steve folds his arms across his chest. Clenching his jaw, he uncrosses his arms for the millionth time as he cuffs his shirt up to the elbows. With his tux jacket and vest long ago discarded, he rakes his fingers through his hair.

Behind him, Sam and Natasha stand vigilant as they watch their leader burn a track in the plush cream carpet.

“Hey man, keep that up and we’re gonna haf’ta replace that piece of carpet.” Sam chides him as he leans against the wall, offering a strained smile.

Steve doesn’t bother glancing back at Sam, he’s too busy glaring at Dr. Banner checking his husband’s vitals.

“Well?!” Steve spits out. “What’s a matter with him?” Frustration and agitation getting the best of him as he stares at Banner.

Furrowing his brow, Dr. Banner just glances at Steve as he moves his stethoscope across Yasha’s chest, listening to his heart and lungs. Pulling a light-pen from his pocket, he opens his eyelids as he takes a look at his pupils.

It feels like an eternity before he pulls the plugs out of his ears.

“Well?!” Steve runs his fingers through his hair again.

“Steven…” Sarah touches her son’s arm, trying to calm him down.

“When was the last time he had something to eat? Or drink? And I don’t mean the champagne.” Dr. Banner looks up from the bed as he meets Steve’s intense glare.

The question throws him off as he looks away and shakes his head “Ah, lunch was brought up to him around twelve thirty, but he’s had fruit platters and… why do you ask?”

“Have you seen him eat? Any of it? The food?” Banner asks as he steps over to the table and opens his medical bag. Pulling out a clear plastic bag he places it on the table and pulls out several long tubes and a bag of needles.

“What the fuck is that? What are you doing?”

“Have you seen him eat or drink within the past couple of days Captain Rogers?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“I’m going to start him on an IV drip. Immediately.”

“Why? What’s a matter with him?” Steve asks again.

“He’s severely dehydrated Captain. If we don’t get fluids into him, I’ll have to hospitalize him.”

“What?” Steve sits on the edge of the bed as he stares at his new husband, his skin’s paling and sickly in color.

“His organs will start shutting down. He’ll have kidney failure and he can die.” Banner motions to Ms. Lewis, his nurse to set up the IV pole for him as he goes to work on prepping Yasha’s arm.

“H-how?” Steve can’t tear his eyes away from the small body on the massive bed.

“I’ll order him a stronger dose of potassium, glucose and sodium. They’ll replace the electrolytes he’s lost. I’ll start the drip and every two hours he’ll need a new one. Darcy is going to stay with him tonight. If he doesn’t improve by morning, if he doesn’t regain consciousness, then, I… _will_ hospitalize him.”

“Shit…” Steve breathes as he picks up his hand and rubs the inside of his wrist with his thumb.

“Dr. Banner,” Sarah rubs her son’s shoulders as she looks from Yasha to Steve “and if he’s better by morning. Then what?”

Turning and facing her, Banner presses the syringe as clear liquid comes spurting out “Then, I still think he needs to go to the hospital. For precautionary measures. Better safe, than sorry.”

“Oh, of course. Yes. We’ll do that. Won’t we Steve?” Her words are soft but with a hint of worry as she tries to comfort her son. Looking at the younger boy sleeping, she tucks a lock of brunette hair behind his ear as she smiles warmly at him. “He’s beautiful, son. Your husband. Don’t you worry. As soon as he gets better, May and I, we’ll get him to eat. He won’t be able to say no to my German Chocolate cake.”

“You hear that Steve, you know none of us can resist your mother’s baking skills. Yasha doesn’t stand a chance. He won’t know what hit him.” Natasha smiles at her oldest, dearest friend. Steve is more than a friend, he’s the brother she never had.

A knock on the door has Steve looking up as he sees Wanda, Clint and Scott walk in. They all sport the same concerned look on their face.

“How is he?” Wanda is the first to speak as she closes the gap and kneels by the bed.

“He’s—“ Sam starts but gets cut off.

“Dehydrated.” She answers her own question as she slowly glides her hands above his body.

“Creepy… as always.” Sam shivers.

 _“Meh_ , you get used to it.” Scott looks over at Sam and shrugs his shoulders.

“His kidneys. Dr. Banner?” Wanda looks up at him.

“Saline solution. Every two hours. We’ll see from there. Still not interested in becoming a physician Ms. Maximoff? We could always use your… abilities.” He smirks as he places the clear bag on the pole.

“I’m a Shadowhunter Dr. Banner. I’ll leave the doctoring to you.” She smiles as she looks back at Yasha.

The door opens again as Ms. Potts walks in. “Captain Rogers,” her eyes briefly move to the boy lying motionless on the bed. “the guests have all departed. All, that is but, Mrs. Lightwood.”

“That figures. The Wicked Witch of the West, still hanging around.” Clint rolls his eyes.

Steve stands up and moves across the room towards the door. “Why is she still here?” he demands.

“She’s requesting to meet with you.”

“Ms. Potts, my son’s husband has fallen ill. Does that _witch_ have to see Steve now? Can’t you tell her now is not the right time. I’m pretty sure whatever she needs to tell him can wait until much later.” Sarah shakes her head and glares at Ms. Potts, her nerves frayed as she holds Yasha’s hand in hers and gently squeezes. “I’m so sorry Ms. Potts. But that, that—“

“Enough.” Steve clips out with such finality that stops his mother in her tracks as the air in the room shifts immediately. “Where is she?”

“The library.”

Throwing open the door, Steve takes one last look at the boy lying on the bed, clenching his jaw, he closes the door behind him and walks towards the library.

 

**~*~**

 

Pushing the solid oak double doors open, he steps into grand library. The doors silently close behind him, sealing him in with… her.

He doesn’t bother looking towards any of the plush couches that decorate the library. Or the oversized recliners that surround the fireplace carved in the rock wall as the logs crack and splinter while being consumed by the blazing fire.

The heat it emanates does nothing to quell the coldness that runs down his spine as he watches her from across the room.

“Captain Rogers,” she turns away from the balcony as she walks back into the warmth of the room. The soft glow coming from the fireplace cast red shadows in her eyes as she smiles at him. “How is the… _boy_?” That last word makes Steve’s blood boil.

“Yasha. His name is… Yasha.” Steve grinds his teeth as he glares at her.

“Oh,” flicking her wrists in the air, she shrugs her shoulder as she glances back towards the balcony. A loud thunderclap booms and the rain begins to pound against the walls of The Gard. “Yes… _Yasha_.”

Rolling his lips, Steve runs his hand through his hair. “Ms. Potts said you requested to see me. Lets make this quick shall we? I need to get back to h—“

“Get back to who? Your new husband?” She smirks as her eyes narrow into slits.

“What is this about Maryse? I don’t have time for your games.” Steve walks further into the room but keeps his distance from her. Separated by one long mahogany table. The soft lamp lights illuminate shadows dancing across the gleaming wood as a lightning strike hits the ground outside.

Walking over to one of the couches, Maryse picks up her purse and pulls out a manila envelope. “So many questions, so many unanswered.” Maryse turns around to face Steve. Now with a distance of five feet between them, she slowly glides the envelope from one hand to the other. “I was nineteen when Robert asked me to marry him. Of course I accepted. I loved him and he loved me. Three children later and twenty-two years of marriage that is not an easy feat for anyone.”

“If this is some bit of advice from you for my marriage, thank you, but no. I don’t need it.”

Giggling more to herself than a response to him, she shakes her head. “Oh, no, Captain Rogers. Actually, it’s quite to the contrary. You see, when your request for an arranged marriage came up to the Council, I, just like many others were shocked. For many reasons. For one, the right to have an arranged marriage hasn’t been practiced in over a hundred years. It’s an old law, still in the original bi-laws. It was grandfathered into the Charter as so were many others and some were not. The Arranged Marriage was one of those laws that were kept more so for the Elders. You know for, sentimental reasons.”

Walking over to the bar, she pauses over a bottle of champagne and settles on a bottle of Scotch. Pouring some in a glass, she swirls it around and takes a sip. “MaCallan Fine Oak. Never did like the cheap stuff, did you Captain.”

Exhaling deeply, Steve fights the urge to grab her by her shoulders and shake the fuck out of her so she can finish what she has to say. He’s never been a patient man. And right now, he’s fighting every instinct in his body not to throw her ass off the terrace. Arching his eyebrows, he flicks his wrists for her to continue.

“Your reputation proceeds you, Rogers. Both as the _leader_ of the Shadowhunters—“  the way she cringes when she says ‘ _leader’_ as she shifts slightly in her demeanor has Steve bristling. It’s no news that Maryse Lightwood was less than accommodating when Steve was appointed their leader once his lineage was discovered. “and… in your personal life.”

“My personal life is my business.” Steve grips the table behind him as he leans back against it. He needs something to hold onto, but quickly loosens his grip as he hears the wood begin to splinter.

“Yes, it is. But like I said, your reputation proceeds you. You have them dropping to their knees for you. Both… women and… men. Hell, it’s only been thirty days since your request, three weeks since your marriage announcement and tonight, your wedding. _Hm_ ,” Maryse taps her lips with a well-manicured finger “wasn’t it… now let me think. Yes, wasn’t it two weeks ago that you were still screwing Lydia Branwell?”

Steve eyes flash red hot rage as he pulls back instantly, not wanting to give her any ammunition, he stays quiet and lets her have her moment. He needs her to continue talking. He needs to know what she’s getting at or better yet, what she wants.

Laughing, she downs the rest of her drink as she pours herself another one. “No? No witty comeback on that one?” she looks over her shoulder at Steve as he bores a hole in her head.

“I guess not.” She smiles as she brings the glass to her lips, stopping short, she _feels_ him right behind her.

“Say what the hell you have to say Maryse. And then, get the fuck out.” Steve growls so close to her ear that he can see the fine hairs in the back of her neck stand on end.

Watching her move to the left quickly, she runs her hands down her dress as the corners of her lips curl into a grin.

“What I cannot fathom, Captain Rogers, is why? Why would _you_ , a man who can have anyone he so desires, enact a law that hasn’t been practiced in over a hundred years. An arranged marriage no less to a… poverty stricken, pathetic looking recluse from the Carpathian Mountains of Romania.” Maryse glares at Steve with all the rage and hate she has for him. Steve can practically see it coming off of her in waves.

“Who I choose to marry, is of no consequence to you.” Steve grabs Maryse arm as she chuckles, looking up at him, she juts her jaw out. “I’m not in the mood for your goddamn games so spare me your holier than thou speech.” Steve squeezes her arm as he stares her down.

“L-let go of my…arm, Captain.” She whispers breathless and shaky.

Dropping his hand from her arm, Steve watches her as she quickly rubs where his hand was moments ago. Turning around, she snatches the envelope from the couch, lifting it to him, she glances from it to him. “Go on. Read it. I’m sure you’ll find its contents very interesting.” She spits out at him.

Taking the envelope from her, Steve opens it and slips out the papers from within. Noticing the age and withered look he gently holds them as he begins to read.

“Careful, they are quite old. Very old.”

Reading the title, Steve skin bristles as he looks up at her. “It’s the Arranged Marriage Law. I know this. I read it. I have a copy of it.”

“Oh, I’m afraid not. You see, somehow when you put in the request for a copy of it, you were given only a portion of the law. I honestly don’t know how that happen. But, needless to say… it did. Old papers and such get misplaced so easily nowadays. Don’t they. Please, continue reading.”

Steve turns his back on her as he begins to read, and read and read. The copies he was given only had fifteen pages. This one has twenty-seven.

Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into what seems an eternity for Steve as he finally looks up from the last page. His fingers grip the edges of yellowed parchment as he wills himself not to cross the short distance to the witch standing in front of him with a triumphant look slated across her face and rip her throat out.

“Oops…” she grins.

“I’d like to direct your attention to Article IV Clause Six.”

‘ _This Clause shall supersede the prior. The state of the marriage will no longer be valid under the law of the Council if within the first thirty days, the marriage has been found to be of fraudulent in nature._

_The Requester of the arrangement shall therefore be stripped of any and all military titles and brought up on charges of treason against the High Council of The Clave._

_Whereas a swift trial by the Council shall be conducted under public scrutiny and spectacle. If The Requester is to be found guilty he will be immediately sentenced to death._

_Death by hanging._

_As for the latter, the fate of the Spouse. He or she will be stoned to death._

_Both executions will be at high noon in the Town’s square for public viewing.'_

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from the sheet of parchment in his hand. It’s the only thing keeping him from strangling Maryse as she laughs loudly.

Picking up her coat she puts it on as she gently tucks her purse under her arm. Walking slowly, she stops shy just a mere foot away from Steve.

“Treason is something The High Council will not stand for Captain. History has _always_ had a tendency of repeating itself. And besides, my great-great grandfather was alive for the last hanging. But I remember, as a little girl, the story being told and passed down to my great-grandfather, then my grandfather, my father and finally, to me. It was my favorite bedtime story. It... still is.”

Pulling out a cigarette and a lighter from her purse she ignites it as she inhales and sighs as she exhales. “Old Grandfather Trueblood, was a masochist in every sense of the word. Though he did enjoy a good hanging, he thrived for the latter. Watching as the Spouse was dragged to the center of the town, naked, crying and begging for their pathetic life to be spared. Screaming for their… Husband to save them. Not realizing, that their husband was in shackles, watching them just like everyone else. A spectator in the crowd, seeing them being dragged to their death. That poor, poor louse of a human stain. Actually thinking that any member of high society would want them at all. Dare to sleep with them, love them. It’s disgusting. You see, that was another thing about the old man. He hated Downworlders with a passion. Despised them more than anything. So for the final nail on the coffin, he made sure that the Husband watched his Spouse get stoned.”

Closing the gap between them, Maryse looks right into Steve’s eyes. Venom spewing from every pore in her body, she says “Even had him cast the first stone.”

Steve’s blood immediately turns to ice. Images of the boy with brunette hair and hauntingly gray eyes stare back at him. But the images aren’t of their wedding. The images he sees is of Yasha being dragged naked and beaten into the center of town, begging and crying to Steve to save him. Arms trying to grasp his husband as Steve lifts a hand out. But instead of saving him, he looks down at his hand and feels the heaviness of the stone as he lifts it… and throws it…

“Can you imagine that,” Maryse taunts him further “that poor sap of a husband you have now. Staring at you as you lead the onslaught into stoning him to death.”

And that’s it. Steve snaps, the growl that rips through him from deep down in his gut, has her gasping in shock as she tries to put her hands up and ward him away. He turns and presses into her as she takes several steps back, stumbling she catches herself as her eyes grow wide with fear.

“Get out. Now.” Steve’s Alpha voice rings loud and deep. The vibrations send shock waves throughout the Gard emitting a low frequency that the normal human ear cannot pick up.

“A—ah…” she stutters out.

“Now…” he snarls as he bares his teeth and his stance widens, swallowing every bit of light that is left in the room.

Retreating quickly, Maryse rushes out of the room and out of his sight.

His entire body is shaking, quaking to its core with anger and rage as he throws the papers across the table and growls again. This one is deeper and guttural, primal and all animalistic.

Snapping his jaw, his teeth clatter as he turns and grips the solid mahogany table and throws it across the room, sending it crashing into the wall and splintering into hundreds of pieces and shattered wood. Steve doesn’t stop there. Ramming his fists through another table it buckles under him as it crumbles to pieces. Ripping cement pillars from the middle of the room, he punches through some as he chucks pieces of steel clear across to the other side.

Maryse’s words and taunts echo in his ears…

 _Even_ _had_ _him_ _cast_ _the_ _first_ _stone…_

 _“GRRRRRAAAH!!!”_ Steve growls out again as he punches straight through the three-foot thick glazed cemented wall…

Growling out again, Steve slams his bloodied fists against the wall as he leans his forehead against the cool tile…

And instantly, there’s a shift in the air. Lifting his chin, he scents the air around him. Underneath the smell of dust and rain and wet earth, underneath the smell of his rage and anger, it’s there. It’s subtle, but it’s there…

Scenting the air again, its hits him. Instantly washing over him as he drops to his knees…

Innocence and instinct...

Soft...

Pure…

Sweet…

Vanilla dipped in thick sweet honey…

A tightening in his belly has Steve moaning softly to himself…

And on the third floor of the Gard, a boy awakens as he arches his back and his gray eyes flutter…

The scent of rage floods his senses and has him crying out a name…

_“Husband…”_

It’s a pained whimper, an ache so deeply rooted, it hurts to even breathe. It pulls and grips him tight, clamping and clenching down deep in his belly, twisting and coiling red hot pain...

It's unlike anything he’s ever felt before…

And that pain, that pain can only be felt by an…

Omega seeking _his_ Alpha…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

    

 

   

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 


	2. Lost Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I want to clarify some things. As RED progresses and moves forward, there will be certain things that are going to be very different from the Shadowhunters world on TV and in the books. For one, in the Shadowhunters world, the humans don't know they exist. They co-exist on different levels. But that's not how it is in this story. The humans know about the Shadowhunters. You have to think of it as Marvel, the Avengers crashed landed on the Shadowhunters. In a world where they all know about the existence of one another, fairies, vampires, warlocks, witches... etc. Several characters will not follow the role they had in SH or Marvel. The Clave will have several key members from the Marvel verse... (hint hint... *cough cough PIERCE cough cough*) and as I stated before, more and more characters will be introduced slowly but surely. Lastly but not least... The Alpha of all Alphas, Steve Rogers. (Gawd, I love writing him this way. He's so fucking dominating.) Even though this IS a A/B/O universe, not all characters are designated as A/B/O. Just an FYI for you. 
> 
> Alright, that's all for now... well, I won't keep you... enjoy and I'll see you at the end notes.
> 
> Happy reading!

Beads of sweat drip down his brow as droplets fall onto the hardwood floor and his fists continue to pummel the punching bag. He’s been at it nonstop for the past hour. What's left of the battered white tape is wrapped around his hands and knuckles, completely drenched and dirty. His lungs fill and expand with every harsh and ragged inhale of air as small angry huffs escape his lips with every hard pounding hit against the one-hundred-pound bag.

The muscles in his arms ache and burn against the abuse. His chest heaves and puffs every time his fists connect with the bag. His sweat slides down his naked chest and pools at the waistband of his gray thin sweats as her voice shrills loud in his head.

_Poverty stricken, pathetic looking recluse from the Carpathian Mountains…_

_Death by stoning…_

_And you… will cast the first stone…_

“Fuckin bitch!” He yells out as he hits the bag with such force it busts open, snapping the chain in half and sending the bag flying across the room.

Breathing in harshly, he slumps his shoulders and bows his head. His sweat drenched hair sticking to his forehead and dripping down the back of his neck. The coolness of his sweat is in cold contrast to the heat radiating off his body.

Dragging his hands up and down his face, he scratches at his beard as he pushes his sweaty hair back. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he begins to unravel the tape wrapped around his wrists and hands unveiling his silver wedding ring.

He stops suddenly as he feels his chest begin to tighten and his lungs begin to constrict and expand forcing the air to slip through his lips.

He slowly traces a finger over the sleek cold silver.

For another, it would be a promise forged in its symbolism.

A promise of forever in its union.

To honor and obey.

To cherish and protect.

To love.

Steve has never been one to believe in the sanctity of marriage. Even knowing how much his mother loved his father. Not that he was privy to any of that. He barely remembers the man. But he knows his mother loved him, so, that was enough for him.

He knows plenty of people who have made the leap into marriage. Some friends… some… not. Always invited to celebrate with them on their joyous day. So, Steve would go, because, he was happy for them. That he was.

Never with anyone draped on his arm though, as the invitation stated:

 ***Captain Steve** **Rogers** **and** **Guest***

No. He never invited anyone to accompany him as a date. It was easier to deal with all the wondering questions and damn speculations that way.

_‘Captain Rogers, when are you finally going to settle down and marry?’_

_‘You know, my daughter has been dying to meet you. Let me introduce you to her.’_

_‘A strong virile Alpha like yourself. You must have them breaking down your door.’_

_‘A man in his thirties is at the top of his prime, did you know that?’_

_'Captain Rogers, you’re the most eligible bachelor in all of Idris… excuse me for being forward but… can I get you a drink…?’_

The constant barrage of questions and everyone trying to play match maker was enough to send him into a violent tailspin and choke the living shit out of everyone. So, he’d answer them like he did every other time. In a roundabout way.

A politician’s answer his mother would say. You could never get a straight answer from any politician.

And so, that’s exactly what he’d do. Circle around the answer enough, they believe the bullshit.

That was... until he did what he said he was never going to do… he got married. Then everything and everyone around him felt the ripple effect. From the Clave to the Gard, down to his home. The Institute. Along with everything and everyone in-between.

Grabbing a water bottle, he gulps it down in one breath. His mind already fogging up with images he’s tried desperately to push away.

Long unruly brunette waves brushing up against the back of his neck…

The feel of his thumb tracing the soft and supple skin…

Those pink moistened swollen lips… especially that bottom lip he loves to bite so goddamn much…

And eyes… those beautiful gray eyes that sing to him like a sirens song in a thunderstorm… beckoning him like a sailor to his death…

“Good Morning, Captain Rogers.” Her voice is short and clipped cutting through the silence of the gymnasium, pulling Steve out of his head.

Ripping away the last strips of tape off his wrists, Steve balls it up and tosses it in the trashcan as he glances at the wall clock. Seven nineteen. “Good Morning Ms. Potts.” He responds flatly. His back still turned to her as he gathers up his towel and water bottle dropping them in his gym bag.

“Your itinerary for today was emailed to you earlier this morning. However, your meeting with Mr. Stark was pushed back from one o’clock to three this afternoon. The flowers you ordered for Ms. Rogers will arrive promptly at eight thirty this morning at the VA with an apology for not spending more time with her when she was here last. And lastly, but not least… I need your signature on this.” Holding up a single sheet of paper against her Starkpad, she shows it to him.

Glancing behind him, he notices Ms. Potts cool demeanor. She’s wearing a black linen pencil skirt, cream colored blouse and black leather heels. Her strawberry blonde hair is immaculate and not one strand is out of place.

Slinging his gym bag over his shoulder he strides over to her. Tapping his fingers, he lists everything she just told him. “My itinerary was emailed to me?”

“Correct.”

“The flowers I ordered for my… mother? To apologize?”

“Correct.”

“Now, what exactly am I apologizing for… again?” Steve arches his eyebrows, confused with said delivery of flowers.

“Do you _need_ a reason too, Sir?” She asks, the look on her face nothing less than seriousness.

“I’d like one. Yes.” Steve matches her seriousness with his stoic expression. “Just make sure ‘I love you, Ma’ is on the card.”

“Done. And done. Sir.”

Turning away from her, he strides out of the gymnasium as he hears the _click_ _click_ of her heels keep up with his long strides as he walks down the hallway. Gripping the strap of his duffel bag, he stops short at the double doors. An overhead light signaling the _EXIT._

“Captain Rogers, your signature please.” Holding her leather bound Starkpad out to Steve in one hand, she holds a sterling silver pen in the other.

“What am I signing?” Steve breathes, taking the Starkpad from her as he looks down at the paper in front of him. His eyes instantly narrow and grow cold as he reads the words in printed bold black ink.

**Student Enrollment Form**

**Emergency Contact Information**

**Student: Yasha Buchanan Rogers**

**Student ID: 79379**

**Grade: 12 th **

**Emergency Contact: Steven G. Rogers**

**Relationship: Husband**

**Contact Number: 929-704-1918**

**Signature: ________________________________________**

Taking the offered pen, he quickly scribbles his name on the signature line and all but practically shoves it back into her hand.

“Will you be escorting him this morning, Captain? It is, after all, his first day of classes.” Sliding the paper inside her cache case, along with the Starkpad, she looks up at him unabashed.

“No.” Steve answers her back abruptly. “Assign two members from the Tac Team as his escorts to and from and I want their names. I want you to go along with him this morning. Take care of whatever necessary paperwork that’s required and email me his schedule for the semester. Where is he now?”

“As you instructed, Captain Rogers. He’s in the main dining hall, having breakfast.”

Nodding, he turns to leave but stops himself. “Very well then. Will that be all Ms. Potts?”

“Yes.”

Without another word, Steve pulls the door open and walks out into the brisk morning air. Inhaling deeply, he exhales slowly as a wave of tension rolls over him and settles in his bones. Swallowing hard, he licks his lips from the cold chill in the air.

Making a mental note to stay clear away from the dining hall, he steadily walks to his truck. Unlocking it, he throws his bag on the passenger side making it slam hard against the black leather as it bounces back.

Lifting his head a bit, Steve scents the air buzzing around him. The static in the air has his hackles standing on end. The air is heavy with the smell of ozone and damp earth signaling an oncoming electrical storm as the dark clouds open up and the first fat drops of rain begin to fall..

Nostrils flaring, he scents towards the Institute…

**_~*~_ **

Uncrossing and crossing his legs for the hundredth time he stares at the buffet of breakfast laid out in front of him. Scrambled eggs, buttered wheat toast, fruit, bacon strips and sausage links, steel cut oatmeal and a stack of buttermilk pancakes drizzled in butter and warm maple syrup.

Just looking at all that food is making him gag.  

Glancing up through his thick lashes, he notices the two guards standing stoic on both ends of the hall. They don’t look at him. Nor acknowledge him in any way. It’s better that way he supposes.

Wringing his fingers on his lap he looks down at his clothes. Dark blue skinny jeans cut low on his waist, black high-top Vans, a grey long sleeve thin sweater that clings to him and a black fitted leather jacket.

All new. Nothing he’s wearing is his own. These are clothes purchased and laid out for him to wear.

Down to the goddamn boxer briefs and socks.

His worn blue jeans, beat up converse, black zip up hoodie with the fringed cuffs and tiny little holes around the hem is the only thing he has left to remind him of his past life. A past life that he no longer belongs to because it’s all shoved in his army green backpack thrown in the back of the closet.

For the past fifteen minutes, he’s done nothing but sit and stare at the food. He hasn’t spoken not one word since the tall blonde, Ms. Potts escorted him out of the bedroom.

The bedroom…

Not his…

He’s just an occupant. For the time being. Soon he’ll wake up from this nightmare and he’ll be safe and snug back in his bedroom. His bedroom with his twin bed, his faded blue dresser, an old wooden desk and his tiny closet. And in that closet, are his worn blue jeans, beat up converse and his zip up hoodie with the fringed cuffs and tiny little holes around the hem.

Closing his eyes, he remembers his grandmother walking into his room, waking him up to eat his breakfast and get ready for school. Even when he groaned and protested, she’d ruffle his hair and say _‘Yasha… double homework tonight if you’re not up and dressed in fifteen minutes.’_ The tenderness in her voice always made him smile as her warm and familiar scent filled him with love and protection.

_‘My little Yasha… we may not have much, but, what we have we share with those who are less fortunate than us. It is not only the right thing to do, but, it is the human… thing to do.’_

She taught him to be kind and compassionate.

That was his life before.

Before they came for him.

Before… _he_ came.

But now, things are different, and another wave of sadness washes over him as he chokes back a silent sob willing himself not to cry.

It doesn’t matter anymore. The tears he’s shed for the last week and a half were washed away like yesterday’s rainstorm. He can’t change what is. It’s useless to even cry. His tears are both for what he’s lost and what’s to come.

And that’s what frightens him more than anything. What’s to come.

The click clack of heels ring in his ears before they reach the other side of the door. Quickly picking up the cloth napkin he wipes his tears away and grabs the glass of orange juice with a shaky hand. Gulping it down, it dribbles down his chin as he wipes the drops away with the back of his hand finishing it all. Placing the glass down with a resounding clink he makes a quick grab for the fork and begins to shovel the fruit in his mouth. Stuffing his cheeks full, he looks like a squirrel hoarding acorns for the winter as he swallows down a mouthful. Reaching out for a slice of toast he takes a bite as he hears the massive oak double doors push open.

Slowly down his chewing, he picks up the glass of milk and takes a tentative sip as he keeps his head low and his eyes on the food in front of him.  

Coming to stand directly in front of him, the tall blonde looks over the breakfast left practically untouched.

He doesn’t look up at her. He doesn’t need too. He can feel her eyes burrowing into his skull. Her perfume is light and airy and flowery. She carries it like the air around her. Soft and yielding, but ever present.

His fingers are still wrapped tightly around the cold glass of milk as he quietly places it back on the table.

“You were seated to eat your breakfast at seven-o-three. It is now seven-thirty-eight and the only thing you have consumed is the bowl of fruit, one bite of toast, four ounces of orange juice and two sips of milk.” Her voice is cold and stern as she glances at his congealed eggs and cold oatmeal.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but quickly closes it when she puts up her hand to stop him. “Was the food not your liking?”

Shaking his head, he keeps his eyes trained to the condensation dripping down the side of the glass, pooling at the base. “I-it… the food is very good. I-I j-just…”

“What is it then?” She snaps at him.

“I-I’m not… hungry. I’m sorry, Ms. Potts.” His throat is dry and every single word he tries to speak makes his tongue feel heavy.

“He will not be happy with you, Yasha. Get up.”

Quickly getting up, the chair screeches against the polished hardwood floor as he stumbles back and knocks it over. “Oh, shit!” Scrambling to pick it up, he stutters out and apology. “I-I’m so sorry.”

Breathing in deeply, she closes her eyes, begging for patience with him. “Enough. Yasha that’s enough. Gather your things, let’s go. We cannot afford for you to be late on your first day school.”

Grabbing his satchel, he falls in step behind her as she turns on her heels and walks out of the dining hall. The two guards falling in step behind him.

Walking in silence, Yasha looks around as they make their way down a long wide corridor with massive high arched stone and rock windows. Turning left and going down a set of long winding stairs, they come to another long corridor. Large portraits hang on both sides of the wall of people and places he’s never seen. He can’t tear his eyes away from the beautiful paintings as he stumbles several times but is hauled up quickly by one of the guards. Murmuring out a string of apologies, Yasha looks up as they come to a set of solid oak double doors with brass fittings. Massive iron wall torches stand on either side of the doors as the guards pass by him, pushing them open and allowing them to walk through.

Yasha gasps as the quietness from the dining hall collides with the utter commotion of people buzzing around moving back and forth. He keeps in step with the blonde as he catches glimpses of people standing over tables and at computer stations moving around holographic screens as another group of people sit on a long mahogany table staring at what looks like some sort of map.

None of the people looked familiar to him, but, that doesn’t say a lot because Yasha doesn’t know anyone really. He looks at everyone in the face as best he can, trying to memorize them.

Maybe he’ll see them again.

Maybe he won’t, but, it’s worth a try if nothing more at least it’s a distraction of sorts.

Looking around he notices that they’re noticing him as well. And not just noticing him, but gawking at him. Some even stopping dead in their tracks to outright stare at him with their jaws dropped and mouths wide open.

Others try subtly to hide an elbow to the ribs or a chin jut to someone close as he walks by. Hushed whispers and snickers have him quickly darting his eyes and dropping his head as his hair falls on his face. For once, he’s glad and doesn’t move to push it back. Unfortunately, his hair does nothing for his hearing.

_Oh my god. Look… it’s him…_

_Ew… he’s so skinny… and young…_

_Jesus, he’s just a kid…_

_Where did he find him? In the woods?_

_What would a fine ass man like Rogers want with a… scraggly looking little boy?_

_Maybe he’s got that Daddy kink…_

_Wait… wait a minute, is that? Oh my god, he’s going to school…_

_Little bastard gets to fuck Rogers!_

_I heard, they’re not sleeping in the same room…_

Yasha feels a wave of nausea hit him as he sways and collides with Ms. Potts. He hadn’t noticed she completely stopped and was now facing out into the floor. Her flowery scent grounds him as he keeps his head down and swallows back a whimper. He wants to run away from here. Everything he overheard makes him feel ill to the point of throwing up.

“I’m sorry.” Ms. Potts glares at everyone out on the floor. “Did I break your moment?” The acid in her voice makes Yasha squirm as he tries to disappear even when there is nowhere for him to escape. “Would any of you like to repeat your comments to me directly, and, a bit louder if you will. Because from where I am standing, it seems that none of you have anything else better to do than to make horrid comments and snide remarks about someone you do not know. A lack of disrespect for Mr. Rogers will not be tolerated. For I will personally see your employment here at the Institute... terminated. Effective immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

The tension is so thick and the silence threatening as they all look at Ms. Potts with fear in their eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Ms. Potts.” A ripple of murmurs and nods washes over the room like a tidal wave.

“Now, apologize. To Mr. Rogers.”

 “We… apologize, Mr. Rogers.” And like a church choir, their combined voices resonate loud and obedient instantly and without a thread of hesitation.

Turning back on her heel, they walk several steps as Yasha keeps his head bowed down, the only thing he wants more than anything right now is some fresh air. The room, even as massive as it is, it’s stifling and he feels the walls coming down on him. The only thing he wants to do is get away from everyone as fast as he can.

Hearing Ms. Potts talk to them in that tone made him feel impossibly smaller than he already felt. He knows he’s not welcomed here. He knows people talk about him. He’s heard them even when they thought he wasn’t listening.

That’s the thing about living in the Institute. It’s brooding towers, it’s many floors, it’s winding staircases, its polished flooring and its countless rooms upon rooms upon rooms makes him invisible. So many people come and go through its doors daily, he’s easily overlooked or ignored. But now, hearing it like this, upfront and in his face, it’s just too much for him.

He’s never wanted to run back to that bedroom and lock himself behind the door and never come out again as much as he wants to right now.

Clutching the strap of his satchel, the leather cracks under his grip as he glances up momentarily towards the huge floor to ceiling window and watches the streaks of rain pelleting the glass with fat drops.

“Agent Beirs, Agent Harris, bring the SUV around to the kitchen entrance please. We’ll be exiting through there.”

Yasha moves slightly to the left as Ms. Potts wraps her hand around his arm, without looking at him she leans into him and says “Yasha, go stand by the archway. I’ll only be a moment. Do not move from there or from my sight. Understood?”

Nodding quickly, Yasha moves to the archway and stands slightly to the left. It’s opening connects the hub to yet another long corridor. He’s never been to this part of the Institute. To be honest, except for his now bedroom and the main dining hall, those are the only sections of the Institute that he has seen.

He doesn’t want to include the day of his wedding. He doesn’t want to think about the small room he was rushed away to after. Yasha lifts his fingers to his lips. He can still feel the warmness of _his_ lips against his. Something in him stirred and hurt at the same time. It’s a pain deep down in his belly and lower, unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It was brief and left him aching for several minutes. As quickly as it came, it left as if it never happened.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he tries not to look around too much. Pulling his jacket tighter around his chest, he feels a breeze of cold air creep down his spine. Gnawing at his bottom lip he peers over at Ms. Potts as she approaches a blonde woman.

He can’t hear what she’s saying to the woman, but he notices how the lady tenses under whatever Ms. Potts is telling her. The lady opens her mouth as if to say something in response but is instantly cut off by Ms. Potts. The icy smile on her face doesn’t leave the blonde woman any room to say anything else as Ms. Potts turns her back on her and walks towards him.

“Come along, Yasha.”

Following Ms. Potts, he sneaks a peek behind him at the blonde standing rigid and glaring back at him. Quickly turning away, he walks out of the Hub and down the long corridor as they enter the biggest kitchen Yasha has ever seen. There’s a twelve-seat solid oak table off to the left set against a huge bay window with different throw pillows and a long red velvet cushion that runs the length of the window. A beautiful bowl of sunflowers and daisies adorn the middle while being surrounded by a colorful array of candles in different shapes and sizes.The clack clack of their steps has Yasha looking down at the distressed wood flooring and admiring the etching and swirls burned into the wood slabs.

The sounds of voices and of pots and pans clinking has him looking over his shoulder as several women enter the kitchen from a door on the opposite side. The stainless-steel appliances gleam in the morning sun, as the room is bathed temporarily in sunlight. A tiny break in the heavy rain clouds.

A massive island with its white marble top separates the room as Yasha notices a brown-haired woman walk in with a list in her hand, looking up at him he remembers her from the wedding but can’t place her name.

“Ms. Potts, Yasha, what a surprise. Good Morning to you both.” She smiles a big brilliant smile as she walks over to them both.

“Good Morning May. How are you?” Ms. Potts smiles back as her cellphone begins to ring.

May. That was her name.

“I’m well, thank you. Just getting ready to head to town, do some shopping.” She says, glancing over at Yasha huddling behind Ms. Potts as she holds her finger up to him and walks away answering her call.

His gray eyes immediately dart to the floor, trying to avoid Ms. May’s eyes on him.

“Good Morning Yasha.” May’s voice drops a bit, trying not to frighten him any more than what he already is. Keeping her voice soft and gentle, she offers him a warm smile. “How are you? It’s so good to see you out and about.” May walks over to him as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Did you like your breakfast? Steve wanted you to have a big breakfast for your first day of school. I tried telling him that if you were anything like my Peter, you’d be satisfied with a bowl of Fruit Loops or a Pop Tart.” Placing her hand under his chin, she tilts him up so he can look at her. “Now, that’s much better.” She says smiling at him again, and suddenly, Yasha feels warm inside as he slowly smiles back. “There you are. Don’t ever hide that pretty face, okay.” Tapping the tip of his nose with her finger, she rubs his shoulder. “So, how about after school, if it’s okay with your husband, you can sit down here with me and we can go over what you’d like to eat for breakfast. And, what you want packed for your lunch. Cause sweetie, judging by this morning—“ she moves away and walks over to the island grabbing a navy blue lunch tote. “that was just too much for one person to eat.” Handing it to him she smiles, “Peanut butter and grape jelly on wheat bread, a red apple, a bag of pretzels and a bottle of water.”

“Thank you.” He says as he takes his lunch from her. “I would very much like that, if—“ he swallows as he peers over at Ms. Potts by the doorway talking on her cell phone. “ _Husband_ , will allow me.”  

Huffing out, May chuckles, “You let me deal with your Husband. Now go on, have a good day at school and I’ll see you later, sweetie.”

Nodding, Yasha waves goodbye as he walks up to Ms. Potts and out the back door.

Climbing into the waiting SUV, Yasha stares out the window as the rain starts up again. His smile slowly fades as he begins to gnaw at his bottom lip again. The stress and anxiety from earlier returns full force as he grips his lunch tote and tries not to think as he stares out the window.

**_*~*_ **

“Coffee. I need lots of coffee. Please.” Sam walks into the kitchen and sits down at the table as Steve walks in behind him, dressed in black combat pants and a tight navy blue UnderAmour t-shirt. His black combat boots unlaced as he sits down and begins to lace them up.

“Awe, what happened? _Baby_ had a bad night?” Steve smirks up at him, his blue eyes brimming with a tease.

Walking up to him, May taps Sam on the shoulder and grins as she hands both Steve and Sam a mug of hot steaming coffee, setting down the creamer and sugar.

“I wouldn’t say that. More like,” Sam looks over at May and winks “trying to keep up with May here.”

“Sam!” May gawks at him as she sets down two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon and toast and a platter of buttermilk pancakes with warm maple syrup.

“Oh, shit. I don’t want to hear this. It’s too early. Can you two keep your sexcapades to yourselves.” Steve takes a gulp of coffee as he adds a little more creamer.

“Hey bro, not my fault you’ve been married almost two weeks and I’m the one getting sex. How’s that working out for you by the way?” Sam chides him over a mouthful of eggs and bacon.

“Not going there Sam, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Kiss? Did you even kiss him? Wait a minute, May, baby, c’mere.” Sam pulls May onto his lap as she squeals in protest but leans down and places a chaste kiss on his lips. “May, now, did you see a wedding kiss? Cause, I don’t remember seeing one.”

 _“Hm?”_ May taps her mouth as she squints up at the ceiling “I believe I did. And, it was really sweet Steve. Sweet and gentle. It’s what every first kiss should be like.”

“That wasn’t Steve’s first kiss May.”

“I wasn’t talking about Steve, Sam.” May gets up and heads over to the stove as she stirs the tomato sauce in the pot.

“Love the way she ends the conversation.” Sam shakes his head as he looks over at Steve. “Seriously, it’s been over a week since the wedding, how is he?”

Breathing in, Steve takes another gulp of coffee as he sits back “Dr. Banner said he’s fine. Blood work came back normal and his kidneys are clear. Nothing to worry about.” Steve picks up his fork and stabs a couple of pancakes onto his plate and drizzles some syrup over them as he cuts into them taking a mouthwatering bite.

“Yeah, yeah I know all that Steve. I mean, _how_ is he doing. I haven’t seen him. Nat, Clint, Wanda or Scott, they haven’t seen him either.”

The way Sam says _how_ has Steve looking at him, practically glaring at him.

“Don’t give me that look, _man_ , have you even seen him? Spoken to him? Maybe said hi? I mean, shit Steve, he is _your_ husband… right?” Sam slowly twirls his finger around the lip of his mug as his deep brown eyes never leave Steve’s.

“Christ, Sam. Yes, I’ve seen him.”

“When?”

“What?”

“When did you see him? You said you saw him. When did you see him? Yesterday? Today? Whad’ya guys talk about? Did you move him into your bedroom yet?”

“Fuckin shit Sam! You want to see him so goddamn much you go look for him!” Pushing off the table, Steve gets up and walks out the kitchen.

Watching Steve storm out of the kitchen, Sam glances over at May leaning against the counter shaking her head at him as she sips her coffee.

“What?”

“You had to push, didn’t you?”

 Sighing, Sam shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth and quietly eats the remainder of his breakfast in silence.

**_~*~_ **

Pushing through the side doors, Steve pulls on his jacket as he walks under the awning and lights up a cigarette. “Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. He knows he shouldn’t have blown up on Sam. He was only asking the obvious. Rather, stating the obvious.

Sam knows Steve in and out just like Steve knows Sam in and out. They’re more than best friends, more than brothers. They’re parabatai’s.

Pulling on his cigarette, Steve knows he’ll get with him later and apologize. Sam hit the right chord and he just blew up at him. Steve wasn’t lying when he said he seen him. He had to see him, after meeting with Maryse in the library, when she dealt him the blow. Steve more than anything wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze the fucking life out of her. But he knew he couldn’t as his rage and anger boiled over and he completely lost it that night. The only thing he could think about as he fell to his knees and a fire burned deep down inside of him was to get to him. Scenting the air around him he was engulfed with his sweet innocent intoxicating smell. It wrapped around him, coiling him tightly, beckoning him to go to him.

And he did, after they all left his bedroom, several hours later. Steve walked into his room and sat next to him on his bed, looking over his small frame. His fingertips lightly brushing his soft skin as he held his warm hand in his. Hearing his breathing level out as the rise and fall of his chest slowly fell into a calming pattern. The soft sighs he made as he turned his face to him. Steve rolled his lips as he breathed in his scent deeply and brushed his thumb across his plump lips only to have him breathe against his thumb “ _Husband…”_ that was enough to have Steve leap off the bed and swallow back the lump in his throat as his blood began rushing south instantly.

Pulling the covers over him, Steve had tucked them under his chin. Brushing a loose strand of hair away from his flushed cheek but not before he twirled it around his finger gently. Feeling the softness of its texture, Steve could smell the sweet scent of the shampoo he used. Rubbing his thumb over his locks, he slid it behind his ear as if it were the most delicate flower in existence.

Stepping away from him, he walked out of his young husband’s bedroom without a second glance.

That night, he sat with Ms. Potts in her office and gave her his instructions. Yasha was not to leave his bedroom. He was to have all his meals brought up to him. A forty-two-inch flat screen was to be installed along with a Starkpad and laptop for his schooling.

So, if Steve is going to be honest with himself, it’s been ten days that he hasn’t seen him. “Dammit, Sam.”

“No. Not Sam. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just saw you walking out here, and… just wanted to see how you were doing? You haven’t been returning any of my text messages or my calls. I’ve left you several.”

Pulling on his cigarette again, Steve inhales deeply and lets a slow exhale slip through his lips as he watches the gray smoke dissipate into wisps of cold air. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy. How are you Lydia?” Steve leans back against the rock wall as he looks up at the dark skies.

“Busy?” Lydia ignores the question as she steps down the final steps and moves in front of him. “You were never busy before for my messages.” Brushing her fingertips on his beard she presses her body into him as she leans up trying to catch his lips.

Grabbing her wrist, Steve turns his face away as he looks down at her. “Don’t.”

Snatching her wrist out of his Steve’s grip she glares back at him, pressing her lips into a hard line. “Don’t? Oh, so, it’s a problem now? It wasn’t a problem before you married that… _boy_.” Her tone is acidic and full of venom as she takes a step back from him.

“Yasha. His name... is Yasha. And yes, Lydia, it is a problem now.”

“Ha!” She shrieks as she claps her hands together “So, when you were fucking me a week before your wedding it wasn’t a problem—but now it is?”

“Drop it Lydia. It happened. It’s not going to happen again. Don’t text me or call me anymore. Everything and anything that has to do with the Institute, send them through the proper channels.” Steve pushes past her as she grabs his arm and rushes in front of him. “Don’t touch me.” Steve yanks his arm free from her hold.

“Don’t touch you?” Lydia spits out as she tilts her chin up, looking him square in his baby blues. “You _sonofabitch_. So... that's it? Hm? You fuck me then toss me aside once you're done with me? And I'm supposed to be what? Okay with it?" Smirking, Lydia drags her eyes up and down Steve's body as she leans in on him. "Oh... Rogers... you have no idea who you're fucking with. I know he still sleeps in his bedroom. Just like I know you still sleep in yours. Alone. You want to know what that tells me? Huh? _Steve?_ That tells me you haven’t _fucked..._ him yet. What do you think your little… _Yasha…_ would say if he found out that his new husband... fucked me the night before his wedding? Took me hard and rough right on the wedding alter? Hm? Fucked me so damn good left my pussy quivering and throbbing for days afterwards, huh? What do you think he’ll say about... that?”

Shaking his head slowly and his anger burning like hot coals through his veins, Steve takes a step closer to Lydia as she juts her chin out at him and steps back “I’m going to tell you this once.” Steve’s voice drops low, a deep growl rumbling in his throat as he crowds into her. “You stay the fuck away from him. You don’t look at him, you don’t talk to him, you don’t even breath the same air he does. If you go anywhere near him, Lydia,” Steve takes yet another step closer to her as she stumbles back, her hands instantly flying out in front of her as she’s pressed up against the cold mortar. “I’ll fuckin kill you, so help you God. Don’t. Fuck. With. Me. Do I make myself clear?” Clenching his jaw, a growl rips through him as Lydia’s eyes grow wide and gasps.

Blinking several times, Lydia swallows hard as she stares up at him. With a poor attempt of a threat she smirks. “I-I’ll go back to the Clave. I’ll tell Maryse and the Council. Let’s see where that’ll get you… _Captain_ _Rogers.”_

Waving her off and with a smirk, he turns and walks away. “Good. Go back to the Clave, and while you’re there, give them a message for me. Tell them I don’t give a fuck.”

**_~*~_ **

Sitting down on the wood bench outside the admissions office, Yasha plays with a loose thread on his satchel. The school itself seems big from what he saw walking in. It’s all one floor and the classrooms are all entered through the outside with connecting courtyards. The quiet hum of the heating system buzzes above his head as a warm breeze blows a strand of hair in his face. He takes a mental notation of his supplies as he waits quietly.

Two pens. One black, one blue. Four pencils, sharpened, a ruler, a calculator, one two inch binder and several folders with brackets.

“Mr. Rogers? Mr. Rogers?”

Feeling a soft tap on his shoulder, Yasha jumps up as he drops his bag on the floor. “I-I’m sorry.” Grabbing his bag, he looks at the chestnut-haired woman with a warm smile etched across her face.

“Oh, no need to apologize Mr. Rogers. You must’ve been day dreaming, _hm?_ First day jitters for any new student is common, please come in.”

Walking past her he enters a big office with several desks and people buzzing around as telephone’s ring and chaos ensues.

Motioning him into another office down a hallway, she holds the door open and closes it behind him. “Don’t worry, this is usually only on Mondays. But, because we had a teachers’ work day yesterday, well, Tuesday is now our Monday.” Her soft tone trying to ease his nervousness. “Please, have a seat.”

Gripping his bag to his chest, he breathes shallowly and takes the offered seat as he glances around the spacious office. A tan leather couch with two equally matching leather-back chairs and a simple wood coffee table make up a seating area directly behind him.

Portraits of landscapes from Venice to Rome, to Alaska’s winter wonderland showcasing the beauty of an Aurora Borealis down to the New York City skyline, has him in awe. The paintings are beyond breathtaking. But what catches his eye, is a replica of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’. It’s his favorite painting. Yasha always felt if he stared at it long enough, he could pretend he was in the painting, laying on the cool grass, looking up at the beautiful stars and the crescent moon.

“Mr. Rogers?”

Breaking away from his thoughts, Yasha peeks up at the lady sitting in front of him with her hands flipping through some pages of an open file.

“I’m sorry.” He looks over at the painting, “I was just admiring your painting. It’s beautiful.”

‘Oh—“ she says as she glances at it “you like Van Gogh?”

“Yes. Very much. He's my favorite artist.” Yasha answers shyly.

“Mine too.” Her smile radiates a warmth and kindness that Yasha hasn’t felt since coming to the Institute.  

“Well, allow me introduce myself. My name is, Jocelyn Fray. I’m the school’s Chief Administrator. We’re a pretty small learning institution here, with, including you, three hundred and sixteen students as of today, so let me officially welcome you to, Idris Academy.”

“Thank you.” He nods and shifts his eyes towards the window as several branches scrape and scratch against it from a gush of wind. The slow screeching sound it makes against the glass has Yasha thinking of long gnarled nails clawing against steel. His breath gets caught in his throat as he feels the tiny hairs on his arm stand on end. His gray eyes growing wide as his fingers wrap around his bag, white-knuckling it to his chest. The small gasps of air he’s struggling to inhale refuse to cooperate with his lungs as he struggles to breathe.

“Yasha? Yasha? Are you okay?” Quickly coming around her desk, Ms. Fray places her hands on his shoulders and shakes him. “Yasha?”

Snapping out of it, he sucks in a deep breath of air as he stutters in several quick beats of air into his lungs. Looking around frantically, his eyes wide, he shoves himself deeper into the plush chair as he takes in his surroundings again.

“It’s okay. Yasha, sweetie, it’s okay.” Rubbing her hand softly up and down his arm, Ms. Fray walks over to a buffet style stainless steel cart. Picking up a pitcher of ice cold water, she pours some in a glass and slowly, cautiously, she pry's Yasha’s hand away from his bag and places the glass in his hand. Wrapping his fingers around it, she calmly tries to coax him into taking a drink. “Take a sip, Yasha. It’s water. Just try to relax and let’s see if we can get you to slow your breathing down, okay.”

Her calming and soothing voice has Yasha bringing the cool glass to his lips as he welcomes and relishes the cold liquid as it slides down his parched throat. The heat inside him finally being sating.

Taking in a deep breath, Yasha exhales as he slowly brings his breathing down. “I, I’m sorry Ms. Fray.”

Pressing her lips together, Ms. Fray looks at him, really looks at him. A concerned look crosses her face as she tries to smile.

“Yasha, has that ever happened to you before?”

Gulping down some more water, Yasha looks up at her. Shaking his head slowly, “I-I don’t—“

“Yasha, I know, all this is overwhelming right now. You’ve had a huge life changing event not even two weeks ago, and here you are. Ready to start school. Senior year at that. You’ve never been to private school. You were home schooled, your whole life, so, I can see how all of this,” Ms. Fray waves around her office, getting Yasha’s attention as she tries to convey her point to him. “it’s a lot to take in all at once. I know, it can’t be easy. How about, I give you a free pass today. I’m going to call Captain Rogers and have him come pick you up. We can start all over tomorrow. How’s that?”

And like a head-on collision, Yasha’s heart slams into his chest and begins beating rapidly all at once. The sharp pounding in his ears rings loudly as he fights to regain some control. Rolling his lips, he squeezes his eyes shut as he takes yet another deep breath.

He can’t let her call him. He has to act fast and say something quick. Something that she’ll believe and hope and pray she doesn’t make that call.

Exhaling slowly, he opens his eyes.

The fear he felt moments ago, replaced now with sheer determination. Taking another drink of water, he places it gently on her desk. Swallowing hard, he forces down the growing lump in his throat, his gray eyes soften as he looks up at her.

“Ms. Fray, Captain Rogers, is, he is a very busy man. I apologize if I have done anything wrong. Please. It was not my intention. If, I may be honest. I am a bit nervous, because like you said. My whole life I was home schooled and yes, this is all very new for me. But—“ Yasha forces himself to  smile and even lie a little as he scoots up in the chair to get closer to her. “I’m very excited. My nerves are just getting the best of me.” He chuckles lightly as he tucks a loose brunette lock behind his ear. “Just butterflies in my stomach, I guess. I really want to start today. Ms. Fray, you wanted to give me a free pass. Can we start over? Right now?” Clutching his satchel to his chest, having never let it go, he drops his eyes from her scrutinizing stare. “Please, please don’t call… _him.”_ He whispers.

Sighing, Ms. Fray has so many questions running through her mind right now, but, now isn’t the time seeing at how easily the young boy was distressed over the possibility of having his husband called to pick him up. That bit of insight, she takes and tucks it away. For now.

“Fine. Okay. A free pass it is.” She acquiesces, smiling down at him.

“Thank you. Thank you, Ms. Fray.” The words slip out of his mouth barely above a whisper as the tension that crawled and settled all over his body slowly fades away.

Walking back to her desk and sitting down, she breathes in deeply and finally lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“You’re quite welcomed. And,” taking the opportunity, she shifts the subject back to his schooling “we’re glad to have you here with us.” Pulling his folder back, she rifles through some papers until she finds the one she was looking for. “Now, I met with Ms. Potts last Thursday and again this morning to go over some last minute paperwork and it’s pretty much all done and completed, however, there are some questions I need to ask in order to fill in some gaps, okay?”

“Yes, Ms. Fray.” Yasha answers a little too quickly.

“Good, very well then, this shouldn’t take too long—“ she says as she glances over at the colorful wall clock “let’s see if we can get you at least to make the last twenty minutes of your Calculus class. First things first. How would you like me to address you? I know I called you by your first name, but, I ask every new student out of consideration and respect.”

A flash of confusion creases his brow as he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head slowly side to side. “ _Uhm_ , I-I don’t understand?”

“Well, would you like me to address you by your first name or your last name? Yasha or Mr. Rogers?”

“Oh,” Yasha practically stumbles over his words. “Ah, my first name would be fine. Thank you.”

Jotting down something in his file, she hands him his class schedule “Wonderful. Now, apart from being home-schooled, the curriculum here should be exactly where you left off. The only class that was left blank was an elective class. I have a notation here on your file from the paperwork Ms. Potts completed that it would be your choice to choose. Per the request of your husband, Captain Rogers.”

Yasha's hand begins to tremble slightly at the mention of _his_ name. His eyes quickly scan his schedule, noticing his last period was left blank. “Did… did he say that?”

“Yes, of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?” She genuinely asks him.

Shaking his head quickly, Yasha glances back down and shrugs. “Nevermind. Please, go on.”

“Alright then, here are the electives we offer.” Passing him a leaflet with an extensive list of electives, she points at several of the more popular ones “You don’t have to choose right away, but, the sooner the better. If you’d like you can sit in on different classes this week and see which one you prefer.”

“No, it’s okay. I know which one I want.” Pointing at the list, she looks at the paper.

Tapping on the keys, she punches in the code for his chosen elective. Scribbling the name and class code on his schedule, she hands it back to him. Standing up, she motions for him to gather his things as she opens her office door and says “Alright Yasha, let’s get you to your first period.”

Grabbing his things, he walks out as she closes the door behind her. Heading out into the main lobby, she opens another door that leads out to the main courtyard. He’s looking around as she proceeds to tell him which corridors lead him to his classes and where the gymnasium is located as well as the inside cafeteria and the outside lunch areas. “There’s also an area that some of the kids like to go when the days are nicer, it’s on the west side of the main hall, through the cobblestone path. Shepherds Pond. It’s quite beautiful and surrounded by a lot of trees. There’s some benches and a couple of picnic tables we added last year. I think you’d like it.”

Looking around, Yasha continues to nod to everything Ms. Fray is saying as he soaks it all in.

“And, here we are, Calculus.” Knocking on the door first, she turns the knob and walks in with Yasha following behind. “Good Morning Mr. Ward. Good Morning class. I’m sorry to interrupt but, I’m bringing you a new student today. This, is Yasha Rogers.”

“Good Morning, Mr. Rogers.” Offering his hand out, Yasha takes it tentatively as he rolls his lips, hyper aware of all the eyes on him. “I’m Mr. Ward, but most of my students here will call me ‘The ol’ ball n chain’, because even after class is over, I make sure to email my students on a nightly basis regarding their _homework_ assignments.” Mr. Ward makes a show to glance around the classroom smirking, which sends a ripple of groans and chuckles up to the front of the class. “Nice to meet you Yasha. Welcome to the nightmare that is Calculus.” Shaking Yasha’s hand he clasps his shoulder.

“Well, my work here is done. Yasha, if there’s anything you need, anything at all, or if you just need to talk, I have an open-door policy. Please, don’t ever hesitate to use it. Have a good first day.” Taking her leave, she smiles and waves good-bye at the class. _  
_

“Alrighty, please, take a seat wherever you find one.” Mr. Ward motions towards the sea of students.

Nodding, Yasha doesn’t look at any of the other students as he makes his way to the very back of the classroom and takes a seat in the far left corner. Sliding into the wood seat, he pulls his binder out and a pencil as Mr. Ward makes his way down the aisle and hands him a textbook and continues to talk about some quiz at the end of the week.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Yasha hangs it on the back of his chair as he notices two girls sitting in the middle of the class, glance back at him and giggle.

“Oh shit. That’s _him,_ Em...” A platinum blonde whispers to a purpled hair girl behind her.

“Fuck me, he’s a little boy. I could probably take ‘im.” Purple hair smirks as she leans forward in her seat, popping her chewing gum. _“Ohmygod_ Liv, I heard that he fainted at the wedding.”

“What? No way. You’re joking, right? You think if I was married off to Captain Rogers I’d faint? Fuck that shit, I’d drop to my knees all day long to suck on that man’s cock.”

Turning away from them, Yasha feels his face flush red as he snaps the pencil in his hand. His eyes seeking out the clock on the wall.

Eight forty-two.

**_~*~_ **

“Hey Ma. How are you?” Steve says as he hears his mother’s smile on the other end of the call. Shifting through some papers, Steve glances at the time as he rubs his chin barely listening to what his mother is currently talking about.

“Steven? Steven, sweetie are you there?”

“What?” Steve runs a hand through his hair as he’s pulled back by his mother’s voice.

“Son, either I must be getting old- _er_ or, you truly aren’t paying attention to anything I am saying, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve can hear the smile on his mother’s face as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m sorry, Ma. _Uhm,_ did you like the flowers I sent you?”

Sarah Rogers burst out laughing on the other end of the line as she taps, taps, taps away on her keyboard and catches her breath. “Why yes, Steve, I do like the flowers Pepper sent me, but I would’ve _loved_ them more… if you sent them. But, nevertheless, tell Pepper, thank you for me. She always knows what I like.”

“Fuck…” Steve mutters into the phone and then realizes his grave mistake.

“Steven Grant Rogers. Do you kiss your husband with that sailors mouth?” She reprimands him with a hint of a smile. Steve can see it clear as day.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand, his thumb slides absentmindedly across the cold silver wedding band on his left hand.

“Steve, sweetie. Are you doing okay?” The warmth of her voice has Steve breathing deeply as he looks out the huge office window watching the streaks of rain cascade like a waterfall as the wind whips the tree branches back and forth.

“Yeah, Ma. I’m fine. I’m sorry, it’s just—“

“I know. You’re married now, Steve. I can hear your mind churning over, son. I know you don’t need it, but… my advice? Take a deep breath, relax, and trust me, things will settle themselves.” Sarah softly reassures him, trying to ease her son’s loud thoughts. “Work and everything else can wait. You have a beautiful young husband that I’m sure loves every minute you spend with him. So, don’t work too hard and _don’t_ neglect your duties as _his_ husband, son. You need to take care of him. I know that,” breathing in deeply, Steve can feel her trying her best to compose her words. “in a normal world, two people meet, they court each other, fall in love and, they get married. But, this, this isn’t a _normal_ world that we live in, is it? Arranged marriages, well, they have no rhythm and reason to them. It’s not like they come with some sort of handbook, sweetheart. _‘The_ _Do’s_ _and_ _Don’ts_ _of_ _Arranged_ _Marriages_. _’_ You learn as you go. Just, be patient with him. Give him time to get use to you and remember, this has got to be a huge shock for him. And by the same token, you need time to get use to him too.” Steve can hear her rustling with the plastic wrapping around the flowers as she sighs into the phone. “I can’t even fathom what you must be feeling, or thinking. Being married to a stranger that up until a couple of weeks ago, you had no idea he existed. But, can you imagine what Yasha must be feeling.”

Breathing deeply, Steve rubs at his beard as he stares at his laptop screen. Typing in an encryption code he clicks on a folder. Opening it up, he slowly begins to swipe left as his fingers idly drum on the polished wood table. His mind slowly drifting to that faraway place he tends to seek out every now and then when his mind gets too muddled and chaotic. His thoughts becoming a jumbled mess of white noise as his heart begins to race.

He knows his mother is talking to him, but, he can’t really hear what she’s saying. Just soft murmurs making her voice sound like an echo funneling through a tunnel.

His vision sharpens as he picks up every single detail of the image displayed on the screen.

“Steve? Son? You still there?”

Sucking in a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, he picks up a glass filled with water and drains it down in one gulp. “Yeah, Ma. Listen, I’m sorry. _Uhm_ , can I call you later? Something just came up and I need to handle it.” His voice stays steady as he continues to glare at the screen.

“Oh, honey. No, don’t worry about it. After work, the girls and I are going out to dinner so I’ll be home late. It’s fine. We’ll talk next week?”

“Sure Ma. That sounds good. I’ll call you sometime next week.”

“Okay. And Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Just remember what I said.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Love you, sweetie. Bye”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Ending the call, Steve pulls out a cigarette and lights it up quickly. The sweet taste of nicotine does very little to quench the slow burn deep in his belly. He swipes left once more and pauses over a particular image. His steel blue eyes narrow and darken almost instantly. Clenching his fist, he doesn’t even register the low rumble rising in his throat.

**_~*~_ **

The rest of the morning passes by in a blur for him. The bell rings, the teachers giving him mounds of homework assignments to catch up on and more textbooks. Mr. Ward, who not only is his Calculus teacher but also his homeroom advisor, gave him his new locker number and told him how he can set up a pass-code lock on it.

By the time his lunch period came, he had his satchel slung over his shoulder and his lunch tote clutched in his hands.

The double doors to the cafeteria swinging open and close with a quite _swish_ as students rush in laughing and talking loudly with one another.

He’s pressed up against the wall hoping he’d disappear so he wouldn’t have to go in. Or at least praying the rain would stop so he can go outside down to the pond. But with the rain just getting harder, that route seems unlikely unless he wants to spend the rest of the day cold, shivering and wet.

Breathing in deeply, he sucks it up and walks forward, pushing the double doors open. It can’t be any worse than the snide comments, snickers and giggles and outright stares he’s already dealt with all morning long.

He’s never been so wrong in his life…

**_~*~_ **

“Again!”

With his arms crossed against his chest, Steve watches as Natasha gives the order to two of the new recruits to continue sparring. Watching from the back of the gymnasium, Steve notices the way they both throw their punches and kicks. They’re erratic and pulling their punches. No fucking way in hell was that going to pass.

“Enough!” Natasha voices roars loud and reverberates throughout the massive space. Frustration laced heavily in her tone that Steve picks up clearly. He knows Natasha better than anyone. Even better than Barton. He knows her fighting style is clean and efficient. Disciplined. The same way she teaches it. She won’t settle for sloppiness and a complete lack of disrespect for her skill set.

“Mr. Lightwood, remove yourself from the mat and stand by Mr. Barton.” No please or thank you attached to her last word. She’s not about to exchange pleasantries with any of them now.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Alec Lightwood. Tall, dark and handsome with the most sparkling blue eyes anyone has ever seen brushes his hands down his sweats and straightens his rumpled and sweaty t-shirt as he goes compliantly. Head hung down in submission as he stands several feet away from where Barton has his hands crossed against his chest as well.

“Head up, arms behind your back, locked at the wrists, legs a foot apart, Mr. Lightwood.” Barton barks out as he looks straight ahead at Natasha.

“Yes, Sir.” He immediately complies with the order as he too stares straight ahead.

“On your feet.” Natasha glares at the young man standing to full height in front of her. Her eyes never leaving his blue and brown. “I’m sorry Mr. Wayland.”

“I-I… for what Ma’am?” Jace Wayland keeps his voice neutral as he continues to stare straight ahead.

“Why, I must be wasting your time. And for that, I truly do apologize. Please,” Natasha’s voice is void of any emotion. Not a blink nor a flicker as she stares at the young man standing in front of her and waves her hand to the exit doors. “pack your things and I’ll have one of the guards escort you off the grounds in thirty minutes.”

Quickly darting his eyes to the redhead and then to the doors, he gasps slightly at the sight of Captain Rogers. Immediately turning back to Natasha, his entire body language shifts as he stands rigid.

“Ma _’_ am _,_ please ** _._** I apologize for wasting your time. If you give me one more chance, I’ll prove to you,” Jace’s eyes shift towards Steve “I’ll prove to all of you. This is where I belong. This is where I _need_ … to be.”

Narrowing her eyes, they take on a cat like gleam to them as she slowly turns her back on him and juts her chin out towards Steve. Quickly shifting her stance, she throws her left arm out slipping it through Jace’s arm. Locking his arm, she flips him over as he counters it and lands on his feet, pulling his arm free he throws a punch as Natasha blocks it and throws a punch of her own connecting with his jaw. Stumbling back, he looks up in time to catch a kick aimed for his chest as he flips her over and kicks her feet out from under her.

Wrapping her arm around his ankle she pulls him down and quickly straddles him. Grabbing his arm, she locks her thighs around his shoulder and yanks down hard as he flinches in pain. If she applies any more pressure on his shoulder she’ll pull it right out of the socket. 

“Mr. Wayland, that’s what I expect to see. I will not except anything less. Especially... from you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes… Ma’am.” Jace huffs out. 

Letting him go, Nat stands and pulls Jace up with her. Turning to them all, she addresses each one of them individually. “This is not a preschool ladies and gentlemen. I will not waste my time training you if you do not take this seriously. You are all here because you four were personally chosen by Captain Rogers himself. If you are not up for the training and discipline it takes to become an elite Shadowhunter, then you can pack your bags and leave.” Natasha glares daggers into them as she crosses her arms in front of her. “Any questions?”

“Mr. Lightwood?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Ms. Lightwood?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Ms. Fray?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Mr. Wayland?”

“No… Ma’am.” 

“Then, I will see you all here tomorrow morning at six am. On second thought, make it four. A twenty-mile run will do just fine to remind you all what Mr. Wayland almost cost you today. Dismissed.”

Taking their leave, they pick up their water bottles and towels by the side doors as Jace rolls his shoulder and glances towards the direction where Steve is standing.

“Mr. Wayland—“ Natasha calls out after him. “put some ice on that shoulder. I need it loose for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jace watches as Steve crosses the floor over to where Nat and Clint are now huddled together. Feeling Alec tug him out of the door, he looks away.

“Way to go Jace. You almost got yourself kicked out of here. And us too.” Alec mutters under his breath as he looks sheepishly at Steve. “And in front of Captain Rogers. Shit…” The doors silently closing behind them.

“What happened? Here I thought we were going to have to send him up to sick bay. Have his shoulder reset. Your losing your touch there, Romanov?” Steve grins as he pats Barton on the shoulder.

“Please, you wish. Besides, I saw the change in him the instant he noticed you. His reaction to you. Hell, they all reacted to you. Their _Alpha_.”

“The pack always wants to please their Alpha.” Barton nods.

Steve inhales deeply as he side-eyes Barton.

“I just don’t get that kid. He’s hot and cold, fire and ice. He’s got so much potential. But, he lets his emotions overrun him. A lot. It’s like he has something to prove. But, not to himself… to you. Every chance he gets.” Nat grabs the Starkpad from Barton and taps away at it. Handing it back to him, she looks up at Steve.

“Just keep me updated on his progress. All their progress.” Steve responds flatly. Leaving her no room to question.

Natasha eyes Steve as if she’s about to say something but then looks over at Clint. Unspoken words telling him to leave.

“Alright, well. I better go. I’m meeting with Alec in a bit for some more archery lessons. Can I say, that one, he’s damn good at it. He’s got an eye I’ll tell you that much. You know the other day, he hit the mark from a hundred and fifty yards out. I mean that’s awesome. But, he missed three times before he hit it, but, still, he’s getting better and better every d—“ Barton looks at Steve and Nat and for an instant he’s caught like a deer in headlights. “Yeah, okay. Well, I’ll see you two later.” Stuffing the Starkpad in his gym bag, Steve watches him as he makes a hasty retreat.

“Are you going to continue to stare at the back of my head or are you going to say what’s on your mind?” Steve can feel the redhead’s eyes burning a hole in his skull.

“Just wondering.” Grinning, she grabs her bag on the floor as they both walk out of the gym in silence.

Her silence is both welcoming and eerie. Steve knows Natasha all too well. Her silence teeters on an edge and just like a jumper, you either take the leap or back out as soon as you can.

Steve knows better. He’s not in the mood for the Romanov Inquisition. And that’s exactly what will happen if he opens that door.

Glancing at his watch, Steve pulls his keys out of his pocket.

“Going somewhere?”

“That’s normally what happens when I’m walking towards my truck with my keys in my hand. So, yes.” With one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other rolling his keys in his palm, he hears Natasha sigh under a gush of cold autumn air. The pounding rain letting up to a freezing drizzle now.

“Aren’t you going to ask what it is that I’m wondering about, Rogers?”

“Nope.” Steve responds, popping the ‘ _p_ ’ with a smirk across his lips.

“Too shy or too scared?” Natasha calls out after him walking towards the Institute.

Shaking his head once, Steve chuckles. “Too busy.”

**_~*~_ **

Standing just a couple of feet in, Yasha feels his chest tighten and his breathing starting to strain. His hands are ice cold but his palms are clamy. Glancing around he looks out towards the masses of bodies. Some sitting, some standing, others running or walking, and, every one of them laughing, yelling and chatting with each other.

The tables are everywhere. Some round, some square, some rectangle. At the far end of the cafeteria, there's a huge buffet style set up with several stations and three sixty inch television monitors lining up the walls showcasing the menu. Hamburgers, hotdogs, pizza, grill cheese, fries, spaghetti, lasagna, salads, sandwiches, an assortment of fruits and vegetables. It goes on and on. There’s even a vegetarian and vegan menu.

All the different smells mingling and coiling around each other seep into the air making Yasha gag and think about the insane amount of food that was laid out for him just hours before.

“Move it freak!”

Yasha’s suddenly shoved forward as he stumbles and catches himself from toppling face first onto the floor.

“ _Ey,_ _bitch,_ didn’t you hear me?”

Turning around, Yasha comes face to face with a big, burly teenager with a dark blonde buzzcut. Mouth upturning into a nasty sneer as he shows a row of perfect white teeth. The stale scent of cigarettes still lingers on his brown leather jacket.

“I-I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to be in your way.” Yasha glances around the cafeteria and notices many of the students already looking over at the scene unfolding in front of them.

 _“I-I I’m_ _sorry_. Jeezus, you are a fuckin freak.” Buzzcut mocks Yasha as he hears a voice shout from across the lunchroom.

“Better be careful there, Eddie. Don’t wanna mess up that pretty face of his…”

Shifting his eyes from Buzzcut-Eddie, Yasha now knows his name. His eyes sift through the students as he finally lands on the source of that statement. It’s her. The purple-haired girl from his Calculus class. Smirking, she smacks her lips and makes a loud popping sound on a cherry red blowpop as she twirls one long shimmery blue fingernail in her hair. Swallowing hard, Yasha quickly glances around to see every single set of eyes on him now as some of the kids start to get up from their tables and prospective spots in the lunchroom hierarchy at Idris Academy. Feeling his face growing hotter by the minute, he looks back at Buzzcut and sees him grinning down at him. His eyes narrowing into slits as the faint scent of nicotine rolls off his tongue, wetting his lips.

“I don’t give a shit,” Buzzcut growls low and taunting as he takes a step closer to Yasha and crowds into him as he takes two steps back. “freak should’ve watched where he was going. Either move. Or you get moved.” Slamming his hands open palm on Yasha’s chest, the burning sting making his eyes snap wide open, Buzzcut grips his shirt yanking on it and shoves him backwards, making him stumble as he hits his lower back against a table. The sharp jolt of pain that shoots up his back to his shoulders makes him bite down on his tongue, the bitter taste of blood dripping down his throat.

His lunch tote, having slipped from his hands when Buzzcut shoved him is now in his big hands as he raises it so the entire cafeteria can see. “What the fuck is this?” He makes a complete three-sixty and waves it above his head as he laughs. “You’re seriously coming to school with, what… a fucking lunch box?” Laughing hard now, many of the other students join him as Yasha feels hands push him off the table he landed on.

 _“Ugh!_ Get the fuck out of here. You don’t belong here! _Ew_! Fuckin gross!”

Stopping short right in front of Buzzcut, Yasha stands frozen, heart hammering in his chest, hearing all the laughter and name calling. His breath is coming in raspy and shallow and his throat feels as if it’s closing in on itself. Not knowing what to do, Yasha tries to go around him, but is instantly stopped by two boys blocking his path.

Crossing their arms across their broad chests, they both shake their heads _no_ as their eyes drag down Yasha’s lithe frame. Pushing him back to stand right in front of Buzzcut, Yasha wraps his arms around his chest as he looks off to the side, trying to see if there’s another way to go around him. The idea quickly gets crushed when he notices one of the boys block his other way around Buzzcut.

“Well, let’s look inside, shall we.” Buzzcut’s voice slices through Yasha as he stands there, unable to get away or do anything. He knows he’s bigger than him and if he tried anything… he… he just didn’t want Ms. Fray to make that call.

“Shit, Eddie, look at ‘im, kid’s shaking so fucking hard. Gonna make ‘im piss his pants or what?” Another voice shrills out from behind him. Yasha doesn’t bother turning around, he doesn’t even care. At this point, he just wants to get away from them.

So Yasha tries a different tactic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to block your way. _Uhm_ , I-I’ll just leave now.” Stepping back, Yasha goes to turn away when a big hand grabs him by his jacket and practically lifts him up off the floor and pushes him back against the wall with a hard thump.

“Oh! Shit! Oh! Fuck! Get ‘im Eddie!”

“Hey! You sure he’s a boy? Looks more like a fucking girl with that long hair of his.”

“Open the fuckin bag, Mikey.” Buzzcut growls, ordering one of the boys next to him as his grip on Yasha’s jacket tightens. The leather cracking and echoing in his ears as the tips of his sneakers try to keep him balanced. “What’s in it?”

“Oh shit, Eddie. You gotta look at this.” The boy with the curly blonde hair bounces up and down as he brings out a ziplock bag holding up a sandwich.

Snatching it from his hand, Buzzcut shakes it in front of Yasha’s face. “The hell is this?" Bringing it to his nose, he sniffs at the plastic. “It’s… peanut butter and jelly? On wheat bread. _Aweeee_ …” Buzzcut chucks it behind him as more laughter breaks out. “What else.” He murmurs as his face inches closer to Yasha’s.

“Dude’s got an apple, a bag of pretzels and a water bottle.” Curly blonde throws the apple across the cafeteria as someone shouts out _‘Watch_ _it_ _Mikey!”_  

“Does this look like kindergarten to you, _huh—?”_ Buzzcut’s hot breath singes Yasha’s skin as he moves his face away from his cigarette breath. Yanking him from the wall, he tosses him like a rag doll on the floor.

His knees hit with such force, Yasha barely has enough time to shield his face from connecting with the polished wood floor. Forcing himself to gulp down the cry lodged in his throat, he bites down on his on tongue and squeezes his eyes shut, pushing back the tears moistening his lashes.

 _Don’t_ _cry_ _don’t_ _cry_ _don’t_ _cry…_

The bell rings loudly, signaling the end of the lunch period as the students start rushing out, laughing, pointing and stepping over him as if seeing another student thrown to the floor is an everyday occurrence. The quick footsteps all around him have pulling into himself as a hand wraps around his arm and hauls him up.

Glaring down at him, Buzzcut licks his lips as his beady little eyes drop to Yasha’s mouth, lingering a little too long but quickly looking back up at him. “Next time, you better not be in my way—“ Buzzcuts eyes cut straight to Yasha’s zipper as they grow dark, hinting to yet something darker, pulling him flushed against his chest, fingers digging and bruising Yasha’s arms. “fuckin pussy!” he spits out. Shoving Yasha back, he lands hard on his backside.

 _“Aaahhh…”_ he gasps out, and, with his trembling hands he reaches down and slowly rubs at his hips. The pain lances up through his spine as he tries to get up and winces. Peering up, he watches as Buzzcut throws the doubles doors open and disappears into the hallway followed by the other two boys.

Feeling a hand softly grip his arm, helping him, he stands up. His head is pounding and his temple’s throbbing as he brushes the dirt off his knees. Hissing from the contact of his jeans, he knows he’s probably skinned his knees from the fall.

“Hey, _uhm_ — are you alright?”

Nodding, Yasha doesn’t bother looking at the boy standing off to his right, he’s too busy glancing around the floor looking for his lunch tote. Pulling his satchel off, he rolls his neck and pulls down his jacket. “Y-yes, I’m… fine.” He mutters. "I-I just need to find my—"

“Here. I picked it up. Sorry, it’s ah… been stepped and stomped on.”

Handing Yasha his bag, he looks down at it. And sure enough, its been pretty much trampled on. There’s shoe prints and scuff marks and the zipper was literally torn off.

Shaking his head once, he walks over to the water bottle that was kicked under one of the tables, Yasha picks it up and rolls it in his still shaking hands and throws it in the trash. Glancing around, he spots the bag of pretzels on another table, grabbing it he tosses it in another trash bin along with his lunch bag.

“ _Uhm_ , hey, I kinda threw away your sandwich and apple. The sandwich, somebody crushed it. The apple, Jimmy and his soccer buddies were kicking it around. I didn’t think you wanted to eat it after that.”

Sighing heavily, he rakes his fingers through his hair and shakes his head, pulling on the strap of his school bag, shouldering it. “No. I wouldn’t. Thank you.”

The second bell rings, echoing and bouncing off the soft white walls as Yasha begins to walk out of the cafeteria. He still has the rest of the school day to get through, and honestly, he just wants to disappear. And Christ, he has more classes with these kids. The same kids that saw his grand entrance. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Welcome to high school.

“Hey! Hey! Wait up. Here. Take this. You didn’t get to eat and, I know you gotta be hungry.”

Yasha stops and turns around as he finally looks at the boy. He’s a little bit taller than him and a bit bigger. His hair is a wavy light brown with a warm trace of a smile across his face. Looking down at his hand, the boy is holding out a Strawberry Nutri Grain bar.

“Here… take it. It’s not much, but… I’m sorry. Eddie—he’s a real asshole, y’know. I—" looking away, the boy gnaws at his lip. “I would’ve helped you, but…” the words get caught in his throat, unable to let them out as Yasha stares at him watching his internal struggle. "everybody here, it's all about cliques. High school politics. And if you don't belong here, well... you get lost. Like me. I'm really sorry for not, helping you."

“No.” Yasha cuts him off quickly, thinking, as he rolls his lips. Sniffling, he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, it’s pretty disgusting but, right now, he doesn’t care. “It’s okay, really. I wouldn’t want no one to get hurt because of me. It's not worth it since... I don't belong here either. So, I guess we'll be two lost boys, together.” Glancing back down at the boy’s hand, still offering the Nutri Grain bar, Yasha looks up at him and smiles, taking it. “Thank you.” Ripping it open, Yasha takes a big bite. And for the first time in nearly two weeks, he’s actually feeling hungry.

Nodding his head, the boy’s smile grows wider as he shuffles his feet around and clears his throat. “So, ah, I know this is probably kinda weird right now, but,” the boy gives Yasha a bashful little smile “that’s a pretty cool accent you have. _Uhm_ , so like, where are you from?”

Yasha barely registers what the boy just asked him. Turning away, he begins to walk. His knees feel shaky and his ass hurts from being shoved on the cold floor. There’s a part of him that feels humiliated but, a bigger part feels nothing but anger. Anger at being shoved around and not being able to defend himself. Even though he— it doesn’t matter. Last thing he needs is to have Ms. Fray make that phone call. If she hears about this she’ll call _him_. So, he’ll just do what Buzzcut said. Stay out of his way. He’ll make damn sure of it.

The boy falls in step with Yasha as they push through the double doors together and begin to walk down the deserted hall. The stillness is calming Yasha’s fried nerves. Plus, the boy chatting nervously next to him is a welcome relief.

He only gets bits and pieces of it. His mind wandering elsewhere.

“I’m from Romania. A little village called Arieseni.”

“Romania? Wow. I’ve never been there. I wanna travel one day. Travel to all these cool places I’ve never been too. I have this thing, well I guess you can call it a thing. It’s a virtual reality program and I can punch in any coordinates in the world and I’m there. Literally, real time stuff. If it’s cold, I can feel the chill in my bones. If it’s hot, I can feel the heat. It’s… well…” The boy is almost jumping out of his skin. “it’s really neat. I mean going to like Paris, or Italy, Australia, those places are amazing I bet. But, I definitely want to go see those little rural towns in middle of nowhere. So how’s Arieseni?”

Chewing the last bite, Yasha swallows as he looks over at the boy and says with the straightest face. “Very… cold.”

The boys stare at each other for a minute before bursting out into laughter.

“I like you.” The boy laughs as Yasha giggles quietly, hearing the late bell ring.

“So, where are you from?” Pulling up the collar of his jacket, they both step out into the cold drizzle as they cross the court yard towards the history wing.

“Me? Well, I live in a faraway kingdom called…” the boy leans into Yasha as if he’s about to let him in on the biggest secret ever. “Queens.”

“Queens? That sounds…” Yasha nips at his bottom lip and adjusts the strap on his shoulder. “Are you a prince or something?”

“Prince?” The boy laughs as he gently pushes against Yasha. “No. I’m not a prince. Queens is just the name of the place I live in. Where do you live?”

“ _Uhm_ , I live… I live in, _uhm_ ,” Yasha’s heart begins to beat faster, shoving his hands in his pocket, he crumbles the wrapper and fists his hands. He’s never told anyone where he lives. Hell, he hasn’t spoken to anyone since, well not anyone his age. The few people that he has had some interaction with has always been on their terms.

He never gets to speak to them. They _speak_ at him.

“I live in… in the… Institute.” The words spill out of Yasha’s mouth before he can stop them. Shit, he doesn’t know if he’s in trouble or not. Ms. Potts never told him _not_ to say anything.

The boy stops dead in his tracks as he reaches out and gently touches Yasha’s shoulder.

Slowly, he coaxes Yasha to face him.

His face has grown pale as Yasha looks him over. “Are you okay?”

Nodding slowly, his mouth hangs slightly open. “What’s your name?”

Glancing down to the rising puddle of rain between them, Yasha looks back up at him shyly. “Yasha.” He says quietly. His voice barely above the wind. “My name is Yasha… _Rogers.”_

“Ooooooh…” the sound coming from the boy makes Yasha take a step back and away. Realizing that, he quickly extends his hands out in front of him. “No no no no no no no, hold on. Hold on. You said your name is Yasha… _Rogers_. And you live in the Institute? Right?”

Nodding, Yasha can only stare at him, confused.

“Yasha… _Rogers_. As in Captain... Steve Rogers. _That_ … Rogers?”

Nodding again, Yasha slowly shrugs his shoulders.

“As in you’re actually,Yasha _Rogers?_ Married to the leader of the Shadowhunters, _Rogers_ , that _Rogers?"_

"Yes…” Yasha mutters under his breath. Embarrassment making his skin tingle bright red as he feels his ears heat up.

“Holy… shit! Dude!” The boy runs his fingers through his wavy brown hair. His face practically lights up like the fourth of July during a firework show. “That’s fuckin awesome! _Ohmygawd!_ Do you know—I mean, do you have any idea who you are? Wait a minute—“ he bursts out laughing grabbing at Yasha’s jacket, his black converse splashing rain on both of them as he hops up and down. “of course you know who you are! Shit! You’re Steve Rogers husband! Christ! Holy shit dude! What the?!” Stopping in mid-sentence, the boy’s mouth goes slack as his eyes shift back towards the cafeteria. “Steve Rogers is your husband. Fuck… he’s gonna kill Eddie Brock. As soon as he finds out about this… yup… Brocks a goner. For sure.”

“What?” Yasha’s color instantly drains from his face as he shakes his head back and forth. Lifting his hands up he looks over at the boy ** _._** Panic settling all over him like smothering blanket. “No… no, please don’t tell him. Please. He-he can’t know. Please. Please I’m begging you. Don’t tell him… don’t tell—" the title gets caught in his throat as Yasha swallows it back…

 _Husband_ …

“Oh, hey, hey… I won’t. I’m sorry. Listen I won’t, okay. I promise. I won’t say anything.” The boy looks at Yasha seeing the fear in his eyes as he tries to calm him down. “Hey. I won’t. Okay.” Holding up two fingers he stands up straighter as the steady drizzle begins to pitter patter louder on the rooftops. “Look,” He smiles at the brunette. “Scouts honor.”

“Scouts honor? What’s that?”

Twisting his two fingers in the air, the boy shrugs at them. “It’s ah, a Boy Scout thing. Y’know if you were in the Boys Scout—“ clearing seeing the confusion in Yasha’s eyes he chuckles and shakes his head. “nevermind.”

“Thanks…” Yasha takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. Dragging the rain through his wet hair, he glances up nervously at the boy. Maybe this chatty brown haired boy is going to be a friend. Maybe he’s not, but right now… Yasha appreciates his sincerity and believes him when he says he isn’t going to tell.

“We’re late. Really, late for class.”

Nodding at the boy, they both start walking again when suddenly he stops short making Yasha turn around and look at him. “Is everything okay? _Uhm_ , did you forget something?”

“My aunt?”

“Your… aunt? Did you forget your aunt?”

“What? No. I didn’t forget her. She works there.”

“She works where?”

“At the Institute. She made your sandwich.”

“She made my sandwich? I’m sorry… I don’t understand what you’re saying—" Yasha’s eyes shift slightly to the left as a big smile spreads across his face since the first time in almost two weeks. “Ms. May?” he whispers. “That’s your… _aunt?”_

Jumping up and down, the boy grabs Yasha and pulls him forward and laughs. “Yes! That’s her! My Aunt May. I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

**_*~*_ **

 

  

 

 

 

  

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you go... hope you all liked it... please leave me comments I love those, seriously! Feel free to ask me questions or drop by and say hi on my instagram. @sebastianstan_igfanpage
> 
> Thank you so much for reading  
> Love and kisses!
> 
> On to the next...
> 
> Chapter 3: DEMON

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it here, than you read it. At least I hope so...
> 
> I'd love to know what you guys think about it, so please leave me a comment here or on my IG. I'd appreciate it 
> 
> Playlist for Chapter 1
> 
> * 'Love Me' Wide Awake feat: Jacob Banks  
> * 'Work' Charlotte Day Wilson
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading...
> 
> Until... next time...


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